by Hep Aldridge
He almost choked on his second swallow of beer. “What?” he said, “You want me to hunt for sunken treasure with you; are you crazy?" He broke out laughing, shaking his head.
"No,” I said, “Gus, I'm not hunting for treasure; I already found it and want you to help me recover it!" Now, he did choke on his beer!
After the coughing and hacking, he looked at me and said, "Are you kidding?" I took a wrapped stack of hundred-dollar bills out of the small gym bag I was carrying and placed them on the table.
"No, I’m not kidding,” and sat looking at him as I reached for the whiskey bottle, took another pull on it, and thought, damn, this is starting to taste good. Another minute or two later, I said, “So, Gus, are you interested?"
He reached for the bottle and said, "Okay, Mr. Burnett, tell me more.”
“It’s Colt,” I said...
“Okay, Colt… tell me more."
I recounted a general version of the past ten months and our discovery. I told him of our need to have a vessel anchored over our find 24/7. “As you can see, Gus, I need someone that is a Competent seaman and trustworthy.” I gave him a general idea of where we would be working. I wasn’t about to give away all the details yet. He stared at me with those steel blue-grey eyes.
“So, you’re afraid of someone moving in and jumping your claim when you’re gone?" he said.
“Yep” I replied, “in fact, we think our activities are under surveillance by that someone already."
"That could mean trouble,” Gus said.
“Yes,” I answered, “there could be physical risks involved, both to you and your boat."
Gus paused, took a drink of beer, then a hit off the bottle. "Well,” he said, “that would make things a mite more interesting, now wouldn’t it!"
"It would,” I agreed, “that’s’ why I’m willing to pay you one thousand dollars a day for your boat and your services. There’s ten thousand dollars on the table and another ten in my bag if you agree to accept my offer. I would consider that a retainer and payment for your first seventeen days on the job." His eyes stared straight at me and got a little wider. I could see him running the possibilities through his head. After a few minutes, he got up, entered the wheelhouse and came back out with two fresh beers. He sat down and passed one my way.
He spoke, "Is all this shit legal?"
I smiled and said, "Well, not yet, but we’re working on it!"
"So, will it be legal by the time I start?"
"Um, don’t think so," I replied.
After a couple of minute’s consideration, a smile spread across his face, "A kind of pirate thing," he said with the slightest gleam in his eye.
"I guess you could say that,” I replied.
“You know I could lose my boat and everything else I have.”
“Yes I know,” I replied.
“I’m going to have to think on it a bit,” he said, “can I have a couple of days?”
“Sure, but time is of the essence; we need to move quickly.” I gave him my cell phone number, picked up five thousand dollars off the table, and left five. If you decide not to accept my offer, consider that five thousand payment for your time and hospitality.” I left him sitting on the deck staring out to sea. Three days later, I got the call and headed back out to the marina.
Gus was sitting on the back deck as I walked up to the Falcon. “Come aboard, Colt,” he said as I approached. I sat down at the table as he slid a cold beer my way and said, “You’re really serious about all this treasure stuff?”
“Yes, I am,” I said, “very serious.”
“And you think it’s worth the risk?”
“I am positive it is worth it.”
Another pause, “Well, then, hope you don’t mind drinking with the hired help, Captain, I’m in!” he said with a big grin as he opened his beer.
“Not at all,” I replied and did the same. After we talked and he gave my offer more thought, he said, “I might need a crew to handle the job the way it needs to be handled.”
“We need to keep this quiet as possible, for obvious reasons.”
“I understand,” Gus said. “That wouldn’t be a problem; two of my old crew are still in the area, and I don't think they're working. If that’s the case, I would like to bring them on board. You can trust them; they both were shipmates of mine. We go way back, and I would trust them with my life, and you could too."
I pondered his statement for a minute, then said, “They would need to know the risks involved.”
At that, he laughed. He pulled up his sleeve, revealing the tattoo of a striding muscular frog in a sailor’s cap, carrying a lit stick of dynamite and smoking a cigar.
It was my turn to laugh, “Freddy the Frog, UDT Gus?”
“Yep,” he said, “we’ve weathered many a shit storm together, last one was Nam. All of us got out in ’65; things were changing, and we’d done our time." It was my turn to pause, damn, not only did I find the perfect boat for our job; a Naval Underwater Demolition Team comes with it! I pulled the other stack of hundreds out of the bag and put it on the table.
“Well Gus, I guess we have a deal.”
Gus smiled and lifted his beer in one hand and the whiskey bottle in the other and said, “Yes, Sir, Captain, that we do.”
Over the next hour, we hammered out the details of our agreement, two to three additional crew members for the Falcon, to be decided by Gus and some new tech/electronics to be provided by Risky Business. Gus assured me he could be ready to move to the site in four to five days. I said that would be fine. I gave Joe a call with the list of what we needed to update the Falcon and he assured me he could have it purchased and installed within the allotted timeframe.
I called Tony and told him we would need secure computer up-and down link capabilities for the boat. He let me know that would take a little longer to make happen, but it could be done on-site at the shoal. He also let me know he had the satellite surveillance of our site set up and working. That was great news. I shook hands with Gus and said, “Welcome to the team.”
He smiled and told me he wouldn’t let me down and looked forward to meeting and working with the rest of my crew. I swear; he looked 10 years younger when I left.
As I walked down the dock toward the parking lot, I felt good about the deal Gus and I had struck. Talk about a beneficial arrangement, and besides, I liked Gus and knew the rest of the guys would too. He was a seasoned sailor and a good fit for Risky Business.
The next day, about ten in the morning, I got a somewhat panicked call from Tony. “They’re at the shoal and diving,” he said.
“Crap.” I asked him if he had called Dimitri. He said yes, he had called him first. He said for you to meet him at Blue Skies Marina at the port, dock C.
“What slip?” I asked as I was throwing on my shorts and T-shirt.
“He said, don’t worry; when you're near it, you’ll hear it.”
“What?” I said, “I don’t have time for his games; what slip?”
Tony said, “That's it; that was all he said.”
I told him to get back in touch with Dimitri and get more info, then call me. “I’m on the way; be there in 15 to 20 minutes.” Dimitri had stepped up when we discussed this potential problem and said he would take care of it; I had said fine and turned my attention to other issues. That’s just the way Dimitri and I operate, but this was, well, it was downright silly. What was that crazy Cossack up to? I slid into the parking lot of the marina with no new information. I jumped out of my vehicle and headed to C dock. As I ran down the dock, I was doing the full scan for Dimitri, nowhere in sight, Shit, not good.
As I was nearing the last of the slips at the end of the dock, there was an outrageous growl coming from the other side of a 45-foot Sea Ray tied there. I passed it and, in the slip next to it sat a 38-foot Fountain go-fast, idling with a sound like some caged beast trying to get out. As I stopped on the dock, there was Dimitri, in a pastel salmon-colored muscle T-shirt with white linen pants, H
uarache sandals, and aviator sunglasses!
When he saw me, a huge grin split his face, and as he pulled the sunglasses off with a flourish, he said in his “Boris” speak, “Hey, Colt, Sonny Crockett from Miami Vice, Da?” “What you think?”
As I undid the lines and jumped on board, I said, “You’re out of your freaking mind!”
He replied, “Da, but how do I look?” With that, he pulled the boat out of the slip and into the waterway, easing into the throttles. I detected the high-pitched whine of superchargers; the boat was beautiful, and from what I could tell, I guessed extremely fast. As we cleared the last slow speed markers, he turned and said, “Hold on; we go now!” I had grabbed the hand rail on the passenger’s side as he slammed the throttles forward.
“Holy shit,” I exclaimed as the boat leaped forward and my grip tightened. The seas were calm, and, in seconds we were literally flying across its surface. Dimitri still had a huge grin on his face as I glanced over at him, then down to the digital speed readout on the dash. Ninety mph and still climbing. I was thinking, damn this is cool, but I would never tell Dimitri! Within 20 minutes, we were two or three miles beyond and parallel to the shoal as Dimitri started a slow turn to port. I figured his plan was to go past the shoal and Come up on the other vessel from the seaward side; I was right. He had slowed, and the engines were just putting out a low growl as we nosed back to the west. He pulled a pair of binoculars out of a large duffel bag on the floor and handed them to me.
“Let me know when you spot them,” he said in his normal voice. I took the glasses and scanned the horizon to the west. It took about another 15 minutes before I spotted the boat. It was identifiable by the mail box hanging on her stern. It was a large device that was lowered over the prop to direct prop wash downward. It was shaped like a ninety-degree PVC fitting and was used by treasure hunters to blow holes in the sand. The vessel was at anchor and lying parallel to the shoal; we were about a mile away from them. We continued moving in their direction at a slow-speed, engines softly growling in the background. At about 700 yards, Dimitri shut off the engines and let our momentum keep us moving slowly toward them. The sun at our backs, the low profile of the go-fast hull and the blue color of the boat did a lot to camouflage our approach.
Dimitri leaned down and opened the duffel bag and pulled out his Barrett .50 caliber sniper rifle. Now, I grew concerned.
As he was attaching a noise suppressor to the barrel, I said, “Hold on, Dimitri, we’re not here to shoot people. I don’t care what they’re doing!”
He looked at me and said, “Don’t worry, Colt; it will be all right,” and handed me a spotter’s scope. He pulled a small sandbag from the duffle and laid it on the top of the mini windshield of the Fountain.
We had drifted another 75 yards closer when he laid the barrel of the Barrett on the sandbag and said, “Give me a reading.” I took the spotter’s scope, supported it on the small dash, and put my eye to the eyepiece. It took me a few seconds to get used to the digital display, but when I did, I could see the boat and the three men on deck. They had their backs to us, looking over the port side; they had not spotted us.
Dimitri said, “Range?”
I pressed the button on the scope and the laser hit the boat’s hull. “six-hundred-twenty-four yards,” I said. There was no wind, and the sea had a gentle ten second swell to it. I watched as Dimitri settled into a Comfortable crouch, eye to his scope.
As he was getting his breathing established, he said, “I’m zeroed in at 500 yards.” That meant that, at this distance, he would have to make adjustments to hit his target.
I said, “Dimitri, what’s the plan?”
He said, “You’ll see. Range?”
“Six-hundred-fifteen yards,” I said. Momentum was still carrying us west.
“Let me know when we get to 605 and then count me down to 600.”
“Roger that,” I said. I could tell he was now in his zone; his breathing had settled into a slow regular pattern as he made two scope adjustments. Nothing mattered but what he saw in his scope. I put my eye to mine and hit the laser again, 612, 611, 610; I took a deep breath, myself and steadied one hand on the dash of the boat. 607, 606, at 605 I counted down,” “602, 601, 600.” I immediately heard the pop from the rifle and saw a splash about eight to ten feet from the boat’s hull and told Dimitri. He made another change to his scope. None of the men turned; at 598 yards, the rifle spoke again. “Splash about three feet from the hull,” I reported. Within the next 30 seconds six more rounds hit the water at about the two-foot mark from the hull, tracing a line towards the transom with their small splashes. One man turned and looked around at the deck of the boat. He must have heard something that got his attention. As I watched, he grabbed one of the other’s shoulders and pointed at the deck. Dimitri had already stowed the weapon and sandbag and started our engines; we made a quiet but abrupt 180-degree turn, our low-profile stern towards the boat. The last thing I noted before we turned was a small wisp of smoke rising from the deck of our interloper’s vessel. Dimitri slid the throttles forward slowly, and we made a quick but stealthy retreat seaward. I had traded the scope for binoculars, and as the boat grew smaller, I could see no one was looking our way; they focused all their attention on the deck.
Once we had gotten beyond a mile out to sea, Dimitri pushed the throttles once again to their stops, and they stayed there for the next fifteen minutes. It was then he made a slow, gentle turn to the south and brought us around in a maneuver that put us about ten miles offshore and 18 miles south of the shoal. A slight chop had developed as the heat from the sun warmed things up and got the breezes blowing.
Dimitri stepped back and said, “Take the helm; I need to stow the gear.” As I took the controls, we spoke for the first time in 20 minutes.
I said, “Not bad, Dimitri, not bad.”
He gave me one of his grins and said, “Zombies.” He stowed the rifle and gear in what I would call a “secret” Compartment, which brought a few questions to mind.
“Dimitri, whose boat is this anyway?”
He replied, “A friend’s.”
“Really?” I asked.
“Yeah, he owes me big time, so I have use of it anytime I need it. I felt it prudent not to ask any further questions as I slowed the boat from the 85 mph we had been running down to 50. A more sedate speed I hoped would draw less attention. As we got back into the sight of land, I saw we were south of the inlet by about five or six miles, so I turned to a northerly heading and sat back and enjoyed the ride. As we passed the jetty and turned into the channel, we saw a Coast Guard rigid-hull heading out full speed. We had heard the chatter on the VHF radio about a vessel in distress north of the port. A second Coast Guard vessel passed us with lights flashing and moving at a rapid pace.
“Gee,” Dimitri said as he gave them a wave as they went by, “Hope it’s nothing serious.” He let out a laugh and said, “Freakin Zombies.”
After a minute or two, I said, “Damn that was close; I guess timing is everything.”
Dimitri had put his sunglasses back on, slapped me on the back, and in his best “Boris” voice said, “No problem for Sonny Crockett, Miami Vice… Da?”
I just shook my head and thought, “Jesus this guy is crazy…. glad he’s on my side!”
Chapter Nine
The next three days were what I would call organized chaos. I sent Junkyard to the port to nose around and see what he could find out about the encounter. There were no incidents reported. They attributed the emergency call from the Carrie Ann to a burst water line that flooded the bilge and shorted out some electrical equipment, starting a small fire on board. The engine had suffered damage as a result, and the Coast Guard towed the vessel to port. They reported nothing out of the ordinary. The vessel was laid up at the port for repairs.
Dimitri speculated that one or more of his rounds hit their engine and caused enough damage to disable it. Not our intent, however, if true, then just a lucky side benefit. Guess these g
uys didn’t want to get involved in something they may have a harder time explaining than a broken hose. I hoped they realized now we were not someone to be screwed around with and best stay away from us and our site. We took the lack of any formal Coast Guard report as message received and continued with our planning. With any luck they were smart enough not to try and retaliate, but you never know the depth of stupid.
We needed to be on our guard from now on. Gus was about ready to go on station at the shoal. Fitz had Come through, and three large duffel bags were delivered to my house by the same crew that had brought our other presents earlier. All armed to the teeth and with the message that he would be ready for another package in five days. I will be the first to admit that having 1.85 million dollars in cash lying around the house in duffel bags is a little unnerving. I mean, where the hell do you hide that much money? You don’t just stick it in the dirty laundry hamper… on second thought…!
Two days after our boat assault, we all met on the Lisa B for a planning and funds distribution session. Each member received one hundred thousand dollars, and everyone agreed they would leave the rest in my keeping for the time being. Now came the hard part; we all understood we had to keep a low profile and no spending binges! In the big picture, we knew we were breaking several laws, some blatant…others more obscure, but no one volunteered to research the details! We shut Lawrence up twice as he brought up legal points we didn’t want to hear. Everyone understood the ramifications of screwing this up and agreed to be cool. I think by now we all had adopted a pirate’s mentality.
Finders’ keepers!
Hell, next thing you know, we’ll all be wearing eye patches and have parrots on our shoulders. After more discussion, we decided we would play the recovery of the longboat treasure loose. There was nothing on the bottom to show any wreck, so, yes, that means finders keepers; damn the legalities to hell! Once we finished with the longboat, we would apply for the appropriate “legal” Federal permits in our search for the ship itself and abide by the rules from then on… well, mostly, anyway.
