Sunken Treasure Lost Worlds

by Hep Aldridge

  Things worked like a well-oiled machine. Dimitri informed us there were two more layers of bars to come up, 12 bars to a layer. Jesus Christ, I thought, this just keeps getting better and better. They rated the little lift bags for a 50 lb. lift, so four or five of the gold bars were the absolute limit. The bars must weigh 12 to 13 pounds each, I thought. We were all working on pure adrenaline now, no wasted motion and a nice slow pace on deck. I even had the guys bring out some beers from the “beer fridge” and place them on the table. Nobody consumed any, but it looked good.

  Joe and Tony had ducked inside the air-conditioned wheel house and Tony was peering at a computer terminal in the corner. Joe came in and out, and we all walked around the deck, sitting down, getting up now and then and moving to other chairs. We hoped that our watchers, if that’s what they were, were far enough away not to be able to tell we were two guys shy on the deck. After about 45 minutes I heard Dimitri calling on Coms, “Colt, you copy?”

  "Got you, Dimitri; what’s up?"

  "We loaded the last of the bars, and guess what?"

  "What?" I asked.

  "There’s another crate under what’s left of the empty one, still sealed."

  "Oh, shit.” We had already recovered 36 bars. I said, “We’ll have to leave it; can you cover it up, so no one will know where we’ve been working?"

  Doc replied, "Yeah, I think we can. We’ll bring up the bottom part of the empty crate and try to fill in the hole." Twenty minutes later, they both surfaced, carrying the remains of the crate with them. Luckily, it was fairly small and easily handled by one person. Once it was all aboard and the guys were unsuited, I had them come on deck one at a time every few minutes from different sides of the boat. I hoped my little deception worked.

  Tony hailed me from the wheelhouse, “Got’em.” I looked at the video screen in front of him. I was looking at a satellite image and asked, “Real-time?”

  "Yep."

  "Can we zoom in and get a closer look?" Tony got us a closer view, at an angle, and I could easily see the “mailbox” hanging on the stern and three or four people on deck. “Man, this is cool; how the hell did you do it?”

  “Yeah,” Tony said, this is one of the older Keyhole spy satellites, pretty much outdated technology with all the new stuff floating around up there, but still transmitting. Not sure whose signal I’m piggybacking on, but I can assure you they don’t know I’m there.”

  As I looked at the screen, I remembered seeing that vessel in the marina we passed on our way out of the port. I said, “Okay, that’s good enough for now. We can track her down in the marina later. Joe, weigh anchor and take us along the shoal about a mile and shut her down. We’ll sit there for an hour and then move north again for a mile or two and repeat.”

  He replied, “Aye, aye, Captain,” and I heard the windlass being engaged as the anchor line got reeled in.

  I looked around at the guys standing on deck, and said “I think it’s time we put those warm beers on the table back in the fridge and replace them with cold ones that we drink this time, what say you?” A round of laughter and, “Hell, yeahs,” answered my question. We had covered the gold bars with a small tarp and then thrown rope and a boat fender on top. Perfect disguise, I thought, looked right in place with the rest of the stuff on deck. We continued our milling around the deck as we got underway, but this time with a vigor that couldn’t be contained.

  Tony walked out with a beer in hand and said, “You know, I’ve been doing a little calculating and if those bars are around 11 or 12 pounds that means we have around 390+ pounds of gold or over 6,000 ounces. On today’s market, we’re carrying almost 9 million dollars over there, more or less.” That stunned me. I hadn’t even thought about it, and from the looks on the other guys’ faces, neither had they. We had been so busy retrieving it and then playing cat and mouse with our friends in the other boat, the enormity of our discovery hadn’t really sunk in.

  With a huge grin on his face, Dimitri said, "And there’s more down there." Now, we all took a minute and caught our breath. Doc looked at me and with a raised beer said, "Colt, you’ve done it. You’ve found your treasure."

  I smiled and said, "Doc, not just me. We have found OUR treasure."

  He returned my smile and said, "I stand corrected: Hear, hear!” and with that took a huge swallow of beer as we all responded, “Hear, hear!” and followed his beer example.

  We got to our new location and dropped anchor. Now, it was just a matter of killing time and looking busy until our next move. Joe let us know our friends had followed suit and moved with us. That confirmed it; they were tailing us, and I didn’t care for that one bit. After an hour, we made our last move a mile and a half north, dropped anchor again, and had more beer. By now, it was getting later in the afternoon and clouds were forming, so we weighed anchor and turned toward home. On radar, we saw the other vessel turn and head to port at a good clip, so as not to be seen by us, we figured. We were in no big hurry, so we gave them plenty of time to “get away.”

  When we went through the port, we spotted our mystery vessel at the fuel dock of the marina. I got her name, the “Carrie Ann,” as we passed and made a mental note to do some homework on her as soon as I got the chance. When we docked, it was still daylight, so we waited and unloaded our “booty” under cover of darkness. We sat out under the tarp over the rear deck and continued our discussion of next steps. First, we had to decide where to store the gold.

  Dimitri volunteered, “I have a large gun safe at home; we could store it there for now.”

  “How secure would it be?”

  “Pretty secure,” he told us. It was steel two-and-a-half inches thick and was rated at being able to withstand a house fire for an hour and a half before any damage would occur to its contents. We agreed that sounded like a good idea. One problem solved.

  Next was the Carrie Ann. Obviously, they were treasure hunters and very interested in what we were doing. Were they guessing we were on-to something or did they know something was up? Lawrence said he couldn’t believe they had any idea what was going on. He thought they probably were just fishing for leads. I had to agree with him. We had been very careful in our discussions and closed- mouthed around everyone except our immediate group. Silence reigned as everyone processed their own thoughts on the problem.

  After grabbing a new beer, I asked Tony, “That thing you did with the satellite, can you do it from here as well?”

  He said yes, he could.

  “So,” I continued, “we could keep an eye on the site when we weren’t there?”

  “As long as there is a bird overhead, I can probably grab a signal.” It would all depend on the flyover schedules of the various satellites. But he said there were a lot of them, so odds were good we could keep an eye on it most of the time. Next problem, what to do if these guys tried to grab our spot and start working it?

  Dimitri said, “Since we have no legal claim to protect us, we just have to make sure they don’t do that.”

  “Okay, how?”

  He said, “Don’t worry; I’ll think of something.” I cringed at the thought.

  Next order of business was back to the gold. How did we go about turning it into cash without drawing attention to ourselves and letting our secret out, causing who knows how much chaos in our lives? I suggested we update Fitz and see if he could help.

  All agreed, and Tony jumped on the encrypted Com-link Fitz had set up for us. In two minutes, we were “virtually” sitting face to face with the colonel in his office. “Hey, Colt, what’s going on?”

  “Well, Fitz, I’ve got good news.”

  “Yeah?” he said…

  “We found it,” I replied.

  “No shit,” he said, “you found the ship already?”

  “No, not the ship, but we found the longboat wreck site.”

  “And…?” he asked.

  “Gold,” I replied.

  He let out a low whistle, “How much?”

  I grinned an
d said, “A lot!”

  “Well, hot damn, boy! You guys done good!”

  “Yeah, but we’ve got issues we need your input on.”

  He said, “Shoot; I’ll do what I can.”

  We told him of the guys who were following us, and then we talked about the gold. “Well,” he said after a few minutes thought, “your claim jumper problem could get nasty. Legally you don’t have much of a leg to stand on. About the only thing I could suggest is to convince them it would be in their best interest to go away and stay away. Now, how you do that is up to you. The other thing might be easier to deal with. How much gold did you say you had?” We told him, and he said, “Can’t handle that much at one time, but I can help you if we take our time and break it into smaller chunks, say, about two million at a time.”

  “What’s it going to cost us?” I asked.

  He said “Probably about a buck, buck and a half. I could probably have something set up by the end of next week if you can get me the bars by tomorrow.”

  I said, “Give me a few minutes. We need to talk this over.” He said to call him back as soon as we decided; in the meantime, he would start making his contacts and tentatively put the wheels in motion. We said we would be back in touch within the hour.

  “Great, and congrats to you and the guys; nicely done!”

  “Thanks, Fitz. We’ll talk in a few.” The link went dead. I turned to the guys and said, “Well, you heard the man, what do you think?”

  Joe said, “Not sure we have much choice.”

  Junkyard agreed, “Right now, we have no other viable options I can think of, and one hundred and fifty thousand dollars to turn two million in gold into spendable cash. I think we should do it.”

  I looked around, “All in favor?” Everyone agreed. I said, “So be it. Let’s get him back on the line.” Within the hour, we set the plan in motion, and Dimitri, Joe, and Lawrence would deliver the bars the next day. I looked at all the guys and said with a smirk, “I guess its official; we’re millionaires!” And the serious celebrating began!

  The next few days were a frenzy of activity, Tony setting up the satellite surveillance of the shoal, Dimitri, Joe and Lawrence making the delivery to Fitz, and Junkyard and I discussing the problem of securing our claim. He had said we would need a larger boat if we were going to spend days at a time on site. I agreed. I wasn’t too crazy about buying another boat, but not sure what other option we had.

  Junkyard sat thinking. “I know a guy at the port who has an old 65-foot boat that had been a long liner back in the ‘70’s. Her captain and his family and crew would spend days at sea fishing for swordfish before the fishing ran out. The boat and captain are still at the port. He lost his wife to cancer about eight years ago, and last I heard, he was thinking of selling the boat to help pay some medical bills.”

  I considered it for a minute or two and asked if he could arrange for a meeting with the captain and me.

  “Sure, I’ve known him for quite a while, sold him a lot of stuff over the years. He’s a good guy. I’ll get in touch with him and set something up.”

  “Great; call me when it’s done.”

  “Will do,” and with that Junkyard left.

  Two days later I had a meeting with Captain Augustus Falconetti.

  Chapter Eight

  In the early afternoon, two days later, I drove to the port for my meeting with Captain Augustus Falconetti and my first look at the Falcon. As I walked down the dock toward his slip, I had already formed a mental picture of what to expect. What I saw was not what I had envisioned. I stopped two slips away from the Falcon and took a few minutes to look her over before approaching. She was nothing like I had expected. I had expected an old fishing boat that had been sitting at the port unused for years and in a state of disrepair. Not at all; she was clean and her paint, while not new, was in great shape. Her brass and stainless were shiny, and the lines were stowed. The windows in the wheelhouse and the exterior of the cabin area gleamed brightly in the afternoon sun. In fact, she was beautiful.

  As I walked down to her, a man came on deck from the cabin and moved to a table and chairs set up behind the wheelhouse. It was protected from the afternoon sun by a canvas tarp suspended by cables. He was a little older than me with a tuft of gray hair visible under the Greek fisherman’s cap he wore. About six feet tall, his skin was the color of burnished leather. The muscles in his arms and expansive chest let me know right away that this was a man used to hard work. As I walked up the dock, the man on deck turned towards me.

  “Captain Falconetti?” I said.

  “Who’s asking?” he replied, rather gruffly.

  “My name is Colten Burnett. I’m a friend of Nils Sorensen.”

  His demeanor changed. “Nils, huh? He called and said you might Come by.” “Permission to Come aboard?” I asked.

  A slight smile crossed his face. “Permission granted,” he said. No sense in ignoring maritime protocol, I thought as I stepped aboard. He motioned toward the table and chairs. “Have a seat, Mr. Burnett.”

  I said, “Please, call me Colt,” as I extended my hand to him.

  He took it and replied, “Gus.”

  His grip was a solid one, and his hand was rough, only confirming my previous notion. On the table was a piece of paper with a hand-scrawled message on it. Boat for sale, contact Gus, Slip 23.

  I asked, “Selling the boat?"

  Gus picked up the paper, looked at me, then back at the paper. He wadded it up in a ball and threw it back on the table.

  "Not sure yet,” he said. I could tell it upset him, either my question or maybe just the idea of selling his boat. I changed the subject.

  “She’s a beauty; that’s for sure.”

  He nodded, “She may have a little age on her, but she’s still as seaworthy as the day they made her.”

  “How old is she,” I asked?

  “They laid her keel in ’58.”

  “Man,” I said, “she’s not showing her age at all. I would have guessed much newer.”

  Now he smiled a look of pride showing on his face, “She only gets better with age,” he said. It was my turn to smile. We sat there for a few minutes neither of us speaking.

  I asked, “Did Nils tell you why I wanted to meet with you?"

  “He said you might be looking for a boat."

  “Well,” I said, “maybe… if I were, the Falcon would fit my needs."

  He looked around the deck fondly and said, “I wouldn’t even consider selling her if I didn’t need the money." He paused and looked at me, and his story came out as if he were glad to have someone to share it with. Why he chose me, I don't know, but he did. “It’s my daughter; she’s not well, and I’m all she has left for family. The medical bills keep coming in, and I’m damn out of options; the Falcon’s all I have.”

  I leaned back in my chair and paused for a minute. “So, that’s the only reason you’re considering selling her?"

  “Yeah,” he said, “there’s no more fishing around here or shrimping, and this ain’t no cruise ship. I can’t leave my daughter, Catherine, by herself, so that’s it." I paused again; I could tell Gus was upset, his blue-grey eyes filled with sadness and love. So, I chose my next words carefully.

  “Gus,” I said, “I may have a business proposition that would interest you.” “What?” he said, “You here to buy my boat or not?"

  “No, I want you to keep your boat; I would like to hire you and it." He looked at me quizzically, and, I went on. “I’m involved in a business venture that requires a sea-going vessel; one that can stay at sea for a few days up to two weeks, if not longer. You wouldn’t have to leave the area. If something came up with your daughter, one radio call, and you could be back in your slip within two hours."

  Now, it was his turn to sit back in his chair and stare at me. When he spoke again, he was frowning and very animated.

  “I don’t run drugs or anything like that."

  I grinned and stopped him before he could continue.<
br />
  “It’s nothing like that; I promise you, but it pays just as well, if not better." Now he looked puzzled, I knew I had his undivided attention.

  You know how sometimes you meet a person and you can tell a lot about them in the first few minutes of conversation? Well, this was how it was with Gus. I knew in my gut he was honest, trustworthy, and a man of his word. I can’t explain how; I just knew. So, I continued and hoped that my intuition was correct.

  I asked him, “Can I trust you, Gus?" He looked at me, stunned.

  "What do you mean?” he said.

  “Can I REALLY trust you? I think I can, but I need to hear it from you. What I am about to tell you can change both our lives forever.” He looked me square in the eye for what seemed like a long time.

  A few seconds passed and then he said, “Mr. Burnett you’re a strange sort of character, but I think you’re an honest one, and Nils said he trusted you and that I could too. I’ve known him for over 20 years, and he’s a straight shooter, even if he rattles on at times. If what you want to tell me will help me keep my boat and be able to take care of my daughter, then you can trust me. Till hell freezes over, and the devil goes ice skating!”

  I laughed out loud. “Good, Gus, that’s what I wanted to know." He stopped me there and said just a minute as he disappeared into the wheelhouse of the boat. When he came back, he had two ice cold beers and a bottle of whiskey.

  He set them down on the table, pulled his chair up, and said, “Mr. Burnett, from the look on your face, I think we’re going to need this,” and opened both beers.

  “You may be right, Gus,” I said.

  After taking a long pull on the beer and chasing it with a swig of whiskey from the bottle, he said, “Now… what have you got on your mind?"

  I felt obliged to follow suit, and as the whiskey burned its way down my throat, I said, "Treasure, Gus, sunken treasure."