“At the end of God’s Fingertip, in the mid-day sun,” she thought, after getting a quick translation from the internet.
“Was that were the treasure was buried?”
It perplexed Marie that Carol would send something as valuable as her own journal or the map through airmail all the way to the United States. Even though she had already alluded to the danger in the area, Marie reminded herself that Carol had always been well-traveled and used to sticky situations with foreign governments and unrest. “Whatever was going on must have really spooked her, though.”
“Excuse me, Miss Brisbee,” an aged man’s voice announced from over her shoulder.
Marie quickly closed the map and the journal and spun around in her chair. Standing before her was the white-haired and stooping archeology department chairman, Maxwell Goldthorn. He had a wizened beard that reached half-way down his neck and a faded, brown, flat cap that she couldn’t recall ever seeing him without. The cane he used to get around with was one that he had personally restored after dredging it up from a European shipwreck many years ago. He liked to claim that it belonged to a famous protodeacon of the Orthodox Catholic Church, but the truth was that no one really knew except him.
“It’s my understanding that you are taking a brief leave of absence,” he said, while rubbing his hand across the antique brass cap of his cane. “Could it be that your, holiday, shall we say, includes anything of University interest?”
Marie knew that it was likely Carol had sent a copy of the message to Goldthorn as well. Maxwell was someone she’d known for ages, in any case, so she didn’t feel like it was necessary to hold back the truth from him.
She leaned closer and said very quietly, “Carol thinks she might have found La Azul Estrella, Max. She wants me to go there and help her recover it.”
The old man’s eyes lit up with a youthful exuberance that he very rarely put on display. The last time she’d seen it was years ago, back when she was still in college, as he remarked on a harrowing adventure crawling around inside the Great Pyramids.
“Hmm, well, that remains to be seen. After all these years, though…” he trailed off. The gleam in his eye remained as he reflected on it, until he finally blinked and came to his senses. “I suppose you’ll be joining her, then?”
“Yes sir,” Marie answered, and looked around the room. The rest of the team diligently worked on different artifacts, cataloging or freeing them from the thick concretion that covered them. She realized that much work was left to be done, but missing a chance like this would be something she’d regret. “I know that we have a pretty big project with the conservation right now.”
“Don’t let that bother you, young lady,” Goldthorn asserted, and raised one brow inquisitively when he looked over and saw Becca’s unusually bright pink hair. “I’m…sure the rest of them can handle it while you’re gone.”
“I’ll be sure to check in regularly.”
“Marie, you know the last thing on your mind is going to be sending me messages. We’ll make out alright. This old geezer still knows a thing or two about restoring sunken pirate treasure.”
Marie laughed and tapped her pen on the anchor. “I’d hardly call this thing treasure, but to each his own. Thanks, Max.”
“Don’t think anything of it. If what Mrs. Blanch says is true, it’s the discovery of a lifetime. I suspect we’ll all be thanking you when everything is said and done, but for God’s sake, do be careful. São Tomè isn’t the island paradise it used to be in my day.”
“Carol said something about that in her email. She said that there was a military presence, or at least a gang of uniformed soldiers.”
Max nodded thoughtfully and scratched his long beard. “Yes, yes, probably not the actual military. More than likely it’s one of the small groups of banditos that try to run things on the island. Things got pretty bad there a while back.”
“Whatever it was, she must have felt like the map and her journal wasn’t safe enough. She airmailed both of them to me, along with this,” Marie said, and handed Maxwell the piece of stamped silver. “I almost forgot to show you.”
He stroked his wrinkled fingers across the metal and squinted to read the inscription. After examining it thoroughly, he nodded and placed it back in her hand.
“Remarkable,” he whispered in disbelief and then straightened his cap. “I think she really may be on to something. An actual piece of the Princesa Espanol.”
“As far as I know, it’s the only piece. It might not even be real.”
Maxwell looked up suddenly as if he’d remembered something very important and turned towards his office. “Heavens, this reminds me. I have a class on medieval forgeries that I’m nearly late for. I won’t delay you any longer, Miss Brisbee. Do tell Mrs. Blanch that I send my regards.”
That night, Marie pored over the journal and studied the map closely. Most of it was easily committed to memory, but she’d need to carry it along with her in case she was missing something. She packed a single suitcase with a few changes of clothes and toiletries for the trip, the whole time unable to shake a growing sense of anxiety.
Marie hadn’t been to a foreign country in over a decade. The last major trip she took was to Israel as a graduate student, and even then, the area had been much calmer than it was in more recent years. The most time she’d spent outside of the lab since then was on monthly visits to her parents’ house a few hours away or the many nights spent curled up on her couch at home, reading. To say she was going out of her element was an understatement. She found the prospect of doing so equally frightening and thrilling.
Marie waited for sleep to come on the final night before her departure. She tossed and turned, too nervous and excited at the coming day, and shook off any hope for a fitful rest. The dark visage of the backyard through the windows wasn’t any help, either. Every time her eyes fluttered open, she could see a dark figure like a tall man’s shadow, watching her, standing at the edge of her garden path. It wavered in the night-time breeze and Marie clutched her pillow tight against her chest at the unexpected movement.
Headlights from a car circling the cul-de-sac briefly shined through the hedges, revealing the figure to be nothing more than the closed umbrella of her patio table and the odd placement of chairs and assorted gardening implements that she’d left out around it. The rapid pulse in her throat shrank and Marie took in one heavy breath of air, feeling the fleeting rush of panic drift away.
“Get it together, Marie,” she whispered into her pillow.
Now that the imaginary threat had vanished, her thoughts turned instead to a mystery man far different and more pleasant than the shadow that lurked her backyard. This man was the one she held as the standard by which she judged all. It was an impossible metric to reach, she knew, but the fantasy of him always quickened her breath and left her skin buzzing delightfully.
He had no name, as she had never bothered to give him one, but he was handsome and strong in all the ways she needed him to be. He was grizzled and rough like only a man of the wilderness or some harsh wasteland would be. Marie murmured to herself as she imagined his arms cross over her back and felt his warm lips press firmly against her own.
Her hands found their way down the silky material of her nightdress, around the smooth curves of her breasts and onto the flat plane of her stomach. The sensation made her tingle all over, and she imagined her dream lover’s hands were her own.
Under the covers, she twisted her body and legs into the thin sheets and felt the warmth of her fingers caress the outside of her folds. He was taking her there, possessing her mind and controlling her body, guiding her along as the pleasure intensified. Through closed eyes, she looked past the darkness and tried to see his face, but he was shrouded, a shifting desire that could have made him any man that her thoughts invented.
She forgot about trying to see his face when the impulses of delicious heat throbbed, pulsing through her midsection. Her spread legs tightened and she gasped loudly, ov
ercome by the sweet release that drummed inside. As the final shuddering waves of pleasure resounded in their finality, Marie rolled over to her side and the vision of her lover dissipated back into the ether.
With her mind resting comfortably in that warm, safe place, sleep took her at last.
Chapter Two
The equatorial heat was at its summer peak and even the light ocean breeze that reached into the mainland did little to push it out of the cramped wooden hut that Carol Blanch called her temporary home. A nice older woman named Gloriana had rented it to her for a week at the price of a mere 95,000 dobras, the equivalent to five American dollars, when she’d arrived the previous day. Carol would have easily paid twice as much if it meant the place had air conditioning or electricity.
Alas, the tiny village of Santa Catarina had no real amenities, save a quiet, rural atmosphere and ready access to a paved road that led back across the country to the São Tomè City. Here, she could conduct her research in private and wait until her friend Marie arrived. Everything was falling into place again.
Until they found her.
She thought she’d dodged them, but here they were, like bloodhounds that had picked up her trail no matter how well she was hidden. Carol remembered seeing the uniformed, gun-toting men for the first time in the rural township of Trindade. She had ventured there after following rumors from village to village over the course of six months. It was revealed to her that an old map still existed, created by a generation long forgotten, and held by a family that might not even realize what they possessed. Carol felt confident that this map held the secret to finding the elusive Blue Star.
Purchasing the map was easier and cheaper than she’d expected. The entire island had been stricken by economic and political turmoil only a few years ago and the man that owned the map was no different than the others living in the more pastoral parts of the country. With a huge smile, he graciously accepted her crinkled twenty dollar bill and handed over the map. The payment would be more than enough to feed his family for a month.
News spreads fast, even in a place like São Tomè, which lacks an abundance of telephones. Before Carol had even left Trindade a day later, the men dressed in olive drab military uniforms had stopped her in the middle of the road, rifles drawn, and ordered her to lie down.
“Descer, senhora!” a man holding an AK-47 yelled in Portuguese, commanding her to hit the dirt.
She obeyed instantly, knowing full well the consequences of disobeying a group of men with guns in a foreign land. When she finally dared to look up, she saw the shiny white leather on a pair of expensive Italian shoes.
“Get up, please,” a pleasant voice said to her in surprisingly fluent English.
The man speaking had on an immaculate white suit to go along with his shoes and a matching panama hat that had a crimson band of ribbon around the top. His suit pocket was stuffed with a silk handkerchief of the same dark red color and he wore tinted aviator-style sunglasses that reflected back at her in a dull sort of way.
Although he spoke English, the man couldn’t disguise his Portuguese accent or his dark brown skin and thick crop of bushy black hair. He stuck out in the extreme with his outfit though, and she felt that it was intentional; he wanted everyone to see him and know he was in charge of things. Carol immediately decided that she did not like him one bit.
“Please excuse my associates. They sometimes have the tendency to overreact,” he began, and extended one hand politely. “My name is Marco Gustez. I manage certain…functions here in São Tomè.
“Charmed,” Carol answered sarcastically, and declined to shake his hand.
“You are American, yes?”
Carol only nodded, clutching her leather satchel and the precious map it held closer to her chest.
Marco put his hand away. “Some of my friends were telling me that you’re looking for something very, very valuable. Do you know anything about that?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Carol insisted, growing more uncomfortable by the second.
“You must be tired, and it is a long journey to the next town. Here in my country, we are all about hospitality. Please, allow us to escort you.”
Marco smiled in a way that struck fear into Carol’s heart. The man looked positively insidious, and his mannerisms and the men aboard the jeeps waiting behind him spoke volumes about what he really wanted. He walked over to the small black car parked at the front of the convoy and held the door open for her. The sound of a rifle being cocked instantly made his offer less of an invitation and more of a demand.
“I’m fine,” Carol responded, and turned towards the incoming sound of a loud, groaning engine which was winding its way through the forest and towards them. About fifty meters away, a tourist bus pulled over the rise and stopped in the center of the village. The thing was rickety from a lifetime of bouncing down the perilous mountain trails and the multi-colored paint had mostly worn away, but it was the main source of public transport on the island. Passengers began to pour out and Carol stepped away from the men, who were visibly seething at the sudden interference.
She smiled broadly at the men and gave them a salute. “Thanks anyway, boys. My bus is already here.”
Marco angrily pointed at the men in his group and said something to them in Portuguese before getting behind the wheel of his car and slamming the door.
Aboard the bus with the remaining passengers, Carol felt only a thin barrier of safety. The men followed closely behind as they traversed down the muddy trails and roads, past palm trees and around sloping curves in an uphill climb. They wouldn’t try anything with so many witnesses around, but she couldn’t ride the bus forever.
As the sun set and night began to fall, Carol finally took her chances and exited the bus with some other passengers. She took the cover of darkness as her ally and slipped into the nearby edge of jungle, narrowly avoiding the men, who thankfully maintained their pursuit of the bus.
Her trek through the forest had led her into Santa Catarina, and she was grateful for the opportunity to change clothing and sleep on a bed. Whoever those men really were, she wasn’t about to play games with them. In the morning, she’d paid a local boy handsomely to deliver her journal and the map to the postal office in São Tomè City. He had been instructed to mail the package to the address she provided and keep the remaining money as payment for his services.
When Carol peered out of the window, which was nothing more than a gaping hole in the wall of the hut, she prayed that the boy had followed her instructions. In only a matter of a few days they had found her again. Parked just outside were the jeeps and black car from earlier. Marco and his men approached the hut, and Carol had a sick feeling that she wouldn’t be getting away so easily this time.
The entire hut shuddered from the force and the shoddy door flew off its hinges. The broken pieces clattered against the floor, coming to rest by Carol’s feet and sliding around and under the rustic furniture. The uniformed man that had kicked it in entered, briefly pointed his rifle at Carol, and once seeing she was unarmed, held it high and at the ready.
Marco Gustez casually walked in, taking care to step over the splintered remains and put his sunglasses away inside his jacket. The shortened stub of a lit cigarette sat between his pursed lips, and he took in one leisurely draw, blew out the smoke, and crushed the butt out into the floor of the hut with his heel. He faced Carol and held his arms out to his sides.
“There you are!” he said with exaggerated, mock surprise. “We were beginning to wonder where you had run off to.”
Carol felt the desk behind her and her fingertips brushed against the only weapon within reach, the disposable pen she’d used to write the note she sent to Marie. She closed her hand around it and held it against her back.
“So, Carol Blanch, you thought you could hide from me? In my own country? I was raised in a village not far away from this one. I know all of the people here, branqeula.”
“What do you w
ant from me?” Carol asked, shaking with fear. She’d been in some hairy situations before, but never like this. “How do you know my name?”
Marco shook his head disappointedly and pulled a pair of black leather gloves from another pocket. He slid them on and tested the tightness, extending and closing his fingers, causing the leather to produce a distinctive stretching sound. Carol swallowed hard and tried to convince herself that he was only trying to be intimidating.
“I have my ways. Now, I want the map that you bought from that little maloquiero. So, hand it over to me before something bad happens.”
Carol took one step back and bumped into the desk. “I mailed it away, and you’ll never see it, you scumbag.”
Marco put on a hurt expression and moved another step closer.
“Scumbag? Is that what you think of me? I am a great man, Carol Blanch. Soon, I’ll be a very rich man, too.”
Carol shouted and swung her arm, wielding the pen like a knife. Marco caught her arm in his gloved hand and laughed at the pathetic attempt. Her eyes widened when she felt his grip tighten and the pen fell to the floor. His hands went to her throat and began to close around it.
“Where did you send it?” he shouted into her face and squeezed harder. “Tell me, bitch!”
Stars appeared in Carol’s vision and the room began to swirl around her. Marco’s grip was too tight to break. She tried to kick and fight against him but soon found herself on the floor.
“Now do you want to tell me? Huh? Where is the map?”
Carol tried to speak and she felt his grip loosen. “A…America,” she strained out in a gurgle.
“Estupida! Who did you send it to? Answer me!”
She had no choice but to comply. “My friend…I told her to come to São Tomè.”
“What’s her name?” Marco yelled again, his eyes bright and burning with anger.
Bad Boys and Billionaires (The Naughty List Bundles) Page 62
