by Hep Aldridge
Copyright © 2019 by Hep Aldridge
Published by BUOY MEDIA LLC
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Cover design by Juan Villar Padron,
https://www.juanjpadron.com
Special thanks to my editor Janell Parque
http://janellparque.blogspot.com/
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Contents
Preface
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
About the Author
Preface
My name is Dr. Colten Burnett, and I’m retired. I’m not rich; I don’t live in a big house or drive a fancy new car, but I’m comfortable. I have hobbies to keep me busy. Working on and restoring old cars, riding my motorcycle, a long-running interest in Archaeology, music-both listening and playing guitar. Taking my 21-foot fishing boat out and… well, fishing. I’m happy, more or less, and that brings me to the “wrinkle.” Many years ago, I was bitten by what I’ll call the treasure bug; as a junior in high school, I lived in New Mexico and heard the stories of buried stolen gold and silver throughout the region. The one story that caught my interest was of Montezuma’s treasure. As the story went, the treasure was taken out of Mexico by the Aztecs before the Spanish conquistadores could get their hands on it. It was moved north up through New Mexico to the Four Corners region of the Southwest. Along the way, so it’s said, the Aztecs hid smaller caches of the treasure. Local stories and newspaper articles confirmed gold and silver treasure had been found in or near the Organ Mountains, right in my backyard.
As a high school kid, that was all I needed to spark my on-going interest, not only in the treasure but in the culture known as the Aztecs. I read all I could find in the library on both subjects. Unfortunately, from my readings, I came away with more questions than answers. Years passed, and the questions remained. While in the Air Force, stationed in South Florida, I received my scuba certification. There, I heard the stories about the Spanish treasure fleets that sailed from the port of Havana. They Sailed up the coast along the Florida peninsula before turning east and heading for Spain, and many of them sank along the coast. From Vero Beach to Sebastian.
During that time, I was lucky enough to meet Art McKee, an old Navy hardhat diver who had become one of the first to dive for treasure in the Keys in 1948. He was about five foot six, had an infectious smile, a barrel chest, and a shock of dwindling gray hair. His rolling gait was a true sign of someone who had spent many years on the sea. He had a roadside museum on Plantation Key that I visited often. I spent hours listening to the stories of his exploits while searching for the gold of the 1733 fleet. On one of my last visits, being the only visitor there, and him having seen my enthusiastic interest in his stories, I got invited into the back room. There, he pushed aside a curtain covering one section of the wall. To my surprise, behind it was a bank vault door. After dialing the combination, he pulled it open to reveal a room six feet wide by ten or twelve feet long and seven feet high. In the back two corners and along the back wall were waist-high stacks of silver ingots and a small bronze cannon. On the floor were sacks of coins. Along the side walls were shelves stacked with silver and gold coins, gold jewelry encrusted with emeralds, and assorted other delicate gold and silver artifacts. My eyes must have been the size of saucers.
He grinned and said, “This is only a small portion of what one ship in the 1733 Plate Fleet was carrying. There is a lot more out there still to be found.”
That did it; the treasure bug took a bigger bite!
Five years later, I found myself living on Central Florida’s Space Coast, and as fate would have it, I met Kip Wagner, founder of the Real Eight Company. He and his partners had been finding treasure from the 1715 Plate Fleet along Florida’s coast for several years and had established a beautiful treasure museum in Cape Canaveral. They had been searching the waters and beaches from Ft. Pierce to Sebastian and done extremely well for themselves. I had an offer to dive for them one summer. Unfortunately, it came immediately following my acceptance of a “real” full-time job working at a local college. I had to turn Kip’s offer down, and it became a missed opportunity I regretted for many years.
Time flew by and with my retirement date fast approaching, I was being asked on an almost daily basis, what are you going to do when you retire? Teach? Do some consulting?” My stock answer became, “Oh, I have plenty to keep me busy." In reality, that was true, but I gave the question increasingly more thought. When asked the same question sometime later, on a whim, I replied, “I’m going to start a treasure hunting Company!” (Remember the “wrinkle” I mentioned earlier.)
The response was, “You’re going to do what, really?”
“Sure, I said, “Why not? I’ll be retired and have the time to dedicate to it." That created a stir amongst my colleagues and really got me thinking, why the hell not…if not now, when? During my time at the college, I had been reading about or seeing on the news, things like individuals finding gold coins in six feet of water on Florida’s East Coast. Spanish cannons had been found in 12 feet of water. Gold pie-shaped wedges were found north of Ft. Pierce. An individual found a gold snuffbox in a sand dune near Sebastian. A person found a basketball-sized lump of silver coins in the surf. All from the 1715 Plate Fleet, and all within an hour’s driving distance of my home. Why shouldn’t I take a crack at it? As I pondered that question, I thought, lost treasure has been following me all my life, from New Mexico to Florida, coincidence? I think not! My new retirement course had been set… well, sort of.
This is my story…
Prologue
July 30, 1715
Somewhere off the east coast of Florida
The sun was setting, and a stiff wind blew from the east. Gomez loved this time of day and did not mind that the captain had assigned him evening watch. Most of the crew were below decks, having their evening meal or tending to personal needs. The deck was mostly deserted and, from his perch in the rigging he had an unobstructed view of the surrounding sea in all its blue-green glory. As the waves rocked the ship and the wind kept the sails billowing and blew across his face, he felt as though he were the only person on board, this was his ship, his domain, and he felt in charge of its every move as she powerfully surged through the waves.
This was a far cry from reality… however, but
for the moment, he was lost in his fantasy, and he reveled in it. As he scanned the horizon to the south, he spotted the ship that he had observed following the fleet since they had left Havana. The vessel never came close enough to get a clear view of her, but he was sure it was the galleon he had seen taking on cargo at the wharf in Havana harbor. He had noticed her because of the large number of soldiers posted at her mooring and the fact that she was painted completely black. Rather unusual for a ship of the day. The wagons that had approached the galleon had all been heavily guarded and he could only guess that her cargo was extremely valuable and demanded the utmost protection. Of course, the entire Plata fleet (that his ship was part of) was carrying riches beyond his wildest dreams back to Spain, but none of the ships had the number of guards around them that he had seen around the black galleon. Gomez guessed it was a wealthy merchant sailing privately and was following the fleet for guidance or safety, although he remembered the full complement of gun ports on the vessel and the number of soldiers aboard hardly made her defenseless. Oh, well, the black galleon posed no threat to his ship or the fleet, so he continued his scan of the horizon and went back to his world of daydreams.
As the evening light began to dim, Gomez noted that the wind had picked up and the waves were steadily growing in height. He looked down from his perch and noticed the helmsman, Fernando, was working harder at the wheel to keep the ship on course than he had been earlier and was shouting something to one of the few crewmen on deck. He could not hear what was said but saw the crewman disappear below decks as a large wave rocked the vessel, and he had to tighten his grip in order not to be thrown from the rigging. As he repositioned himself, he noticed that the black ship had gained on them dramatically and was moving further out to sea. He was able to get a better look at her and noticed that her sail configuration was different than that of most galleons and her speed was much greater than that of the fully loaded vessels of the fleet. In fact, he estimated she would be passing them on their starboard side within the hour as she was continuing to move further east-north-east, out to sea.
The wind was picking up dramatically, and the crewman who had gone below at Fernando’s orders had returned with the captain. The waves were increasing in size as the wind grew stronger. The Captain and Fernando were engaged in an animated discussion while scanning the darkening skies. Gomez noted the oncoming darkness not just from nightfall, but also from the ominous thunderheads that were building in the east. As he had predicted, the black vessel passed them in less than an hour and was moving at an incredible pace, even under these extreme conditions. He estimated she would pass the lead ship of the Floata by morning at her current speed. He had to use his glass to get a closer look at the galleon as she was passing and noticed, in what remained of the twilight, the flag she was flying. He had only seen it once before, in the harbor of Cadiz, Spain. It was the king’s personal crest, one that was used by only a few vessels operating directly under king’s orders.
Now, Gomez understood the large number of soldiers; they must be under special orders from the king himself and what they were carrying in cargo must be very important and valuable. However, he couldn’t imagine anything more valuable than the gold, silver, and other precious goods that his fleet was carrying. He didn’t have time to ponder the question further as the captain shouted the order for him to come down from his perch just as a large wave broke over the bow. His last glimpse of the mysterious black ship was as a dot on the darkening horizon as he descended the rigging to the deck.
At two a.m. the next morning, the hurricane struck…
Chapter One
The Beginning
Thunk, thunk, thunk… there it was again… that damn irritating noise. How the hell could I get any rest with that continuous hammering going on? All I wanted was a little sleep, just a little more; I was tired… Thunk, thunk, thunk. Again, that noise but this time it was accompanied by a shooting pain in my left leg. As I opened my eyes, I realized this was not the scene my mind had painted for me. It was more like something out of a B-rated action movie. The sun was blazing down. I was hot, and rivulets of sweat were running down my face, as I found myself lying behind large coils of rope and hawser lines. I was facing some beautiful blue-green water, and my leg hurt like hell. As I looked down at the bloody rag tied around it, some of the fog cleared in my head. I remembered I had been shot. Who the hell did that? My question became more urgent as rounds being fired from automatic weapons hit the pile of rope I was leaning against and the barrels next to it. Thunk, thunk, thunk… there it was — the source of the sound that had awakened me. Son of a bitch, I was being shot at by parties yet unknown for reasons my foggy mind was still trying to sort out. What the hell!?
I carefully peered over the ropes to assess my situation and also clear the fog that continued to swirl in my head. I was at the end of a dock. At the other end, I saw a large group of barrels and crates effectively hiding my assailants from view. Some small fishing boats with their nets hung out to dry were tied to the dock.
Where the dock reached land, two pickup trucks and a Land Rover were sitting with their doors open. I surmised these were the vehicles that had brought my new friends to visit. I had no idea how I had gotten here, but right now that was unimportant. Another volley of automatic weapons fire opened up, and I ducked for better cover. From the sounds of it, they were AK-47’s, some serious firepower. At that moment, my brain made an attempt at coming back online, and a flood of information poured in, pushed along by the pain in my leg. I held my Glock 21 in one hand and the handle of a metal briefcase in the other. I felt the empty shoulder holster under my left arm and equally empty extra mag holder under my right. I could hear voices coming from the direction of what I guessed were bad guys. For the moment, I was thinking of myself as a good guy. Funny, how your mind works under stressful situations.
I heard running footsteps on the dock. I figured I had better let them know I was still alive and kicking. I rose up enough to see three men running in my direction, carrying assault rifles. I brought the Glock to bear and saw one man fall. That sent the other two ducking for safety behind some barrels stacked along the dock. I wish I could say I hit the one guy due to my stellar marksmanship, but my vision was still blurry, and my hand was shaking a wee bit. So, I’ll just go with what my granddaddy used to always say: "Colt, I’d rather be lucky than good." Trying to think beyond my current predicament was still difficult. Things like what did I do to piss these guys off and what the hell was in this metal briefcase I held so tightly, still escaped me.
The staccato chatter of the AK’s brought me back to my current plight and the need to come up with a plan; some kind of plan, hell any kind of plan to get myself out of this mess. Once again looking around, I saw the makeshift bandage on my leg continuing to turn bright crimson. Shit, how long have I been here? There was one empty 13-round magazine lying next to me, and when I dropped the clip out of the Glock, I had just four rounds left. As I felt my vest pockets, I found another full clip in one and, in another, a small electronic device with a blinking red light. Interesting, but the brain fog kept its function hidden from me. Since it was in my pocket, I guessed it must be important, just not sure why. Sporadic gunfire drew my attention back to my immediate imperative, how to stay alive…
As my mind took another of its leaps out of the fog, I ticked off a few of the facts as I saw them. One, these guys were really pissed; for some reason, I felt the briefcase had something to do with it. Two, they were willing to kill me for it. Three, number two was a real possibility. Not an outcome that I relished. A thought pushed its way through the haze… maybe, if I gave them the briefcase they would be so happy they would just let me go! No, no, no… a little voice in my head said, Colt, that’s not an option. The heat and blood loss were taking their toll. Not enough to stop that little voice from saying that “giving up the briefcase would be very, very bad. Destroying it would be a better alternative than giving it up.” Aw, shit, now what do I do? Got
to stay focused and hopefully stay alive, but that damn brain fog kept trying to return.
As I hunkered down-with the sun now relentlessly searing my body and brain, I pondered the 64-thousand-dollar question. What the hell was in the briefcase? If I could only remember… Whatever it is, it seems to be worth killing for! The gunfire erupted again, and more voices shouted back and forth. I’m thinking these guys are getting hot and impatient. They want to finish this thing and get back to wherever for a cold cerveza. Huh… Why am I thinking of beer in Spanish? Were the voices I heard shouting back and forth in Spanish?... Where the hell am I? As I took in my surroundings a little more clearly, I thought it’s tropical. I saw palm trees on the beach beyond the dock. It’s hot, salty air, there are sea birds all around and the sun is sinking towards the watery horizon, so that must be west. If that’s true, then that means I’m looking out across the Pacific. Well, that sort of answers the question of where I am. Ha! I’m on the west coast of somewhere where they speak Spanish. “Great,” I sarcastically thought, that narrows my location down to a few thousand miles of coastline. Sure as hell doesn’t help the current situation, Crap! Okay, file it away, Colt, and move on.
