Satisfyingly, I finally saw the scoundrel drop his eyes and nod.
Crow reluctantly came forward, picked up the emerald, and handed it to me with more grace. Without a word, I reached inside my shirt and hauled out the same magnifying glass I’d used to ignite the powder kegs at Vertières. Taking my time, I studied the gem, remembering its beauties as vividly as the charms of my wife.
“So untrusting,” Martel said.
It was the same stone. I pocketed the jewel. “Finally, a start.”
“You know where the remainder of Montezuma’s treasure is?” he asked.
“I know where it may be.”
He smiled. “Then let’s go look. France and America, united.”
“Just as soon as I have my family back, and your agreement to a third, not all, of whatever we find.” I actually had no intention of giving him any of the booty, except maybe an Aztec jade dagger to his heart, but I needed this manipulator just a little while longer. If I could bundle Astiza and Harry to Jubal and his men, we’d shuck these French criminals and the British entirely, restore some of whatever we found to Dessalines, and keep a generous share for ourselves. I’d retire a gentleman after all.
This was assuming the hoard existed.
“Your family will be reunited, monsieur, when we have the treasure.”
“You will have the treasure, monsieur, when I am reunited.”
“Then I’m afraid we’re at an impasse, except that I already have your family while you, as yet, have nothing.” He looked at me coolly. “I’ve returned your gem as a gesture of goodwill. I’ve presented your wife and child, unharmed. You must extend courtesy to me. Tell me what you know, and I’ll release them.”
“Napoleon, sir, would hold you in contempt for such blackmail.”
He shook his head. “No man is more practical and ruthless than Bonaparte, if we’re being honest here.”
I considered. If I shared what I guessed about Diamond Rock, there was nothing to prevent Martel from shooting me, keeping my wife, and selling my child, actions I was certain he was perfectly capable of. Yet he was right, I didn’t have anything to exchange for them. Yet.
“Since you want a pirate pact, I’ll comply,” I said. “Loot for family. But I’m going to test what I know with my own companions, not yours. If I find something, I’m going to trade part of it—not all of it—for my family.”
“I want the flying machines.”
“If you harm my wife and son, you get nothing. If you try to betray me, you get nothing. If you bungle a discovery that could cost Napoleon the chance to cross the English Channel and conquer England, Bonaparte will have you shot. Be very careful, Leon Martel.”
This was the kind of thieves’ bargaining he understood. “And if you find nothing, you do not get your family,” he countered. “If you don’t share with me the secret technology of the Aztecs, I will kill you myself. If you take your secrets to the English, Bonaparte will make you a hunted man no matter where in the world you flee. Be very careful, Ethan Gage.”
We stared, again.
“And with that, monsieur, I believe we have established an excellent relationship,” he finished.
“I’d like a word with my wife.”
“Not possible. She’s a very clever woman, and quite impatient by now. I’m relying on her to interpret what clues you find, or what the treasures mean. Let your desire to talk to her spur you on. The sooner we have the Aztec treasure, the sooner you reunite.”
“If you touch her, I’ll destroy you.”
“I don’t need your woman. I have many of my own.” He sighed, as if exhausted by my distrust.
“I want another kiss from her, then,” I said stubbornly. “And a hug from my son.” I wanted, but could not admit it, to be reassured. I wanted love. She’d left me in Cap-François to go with this monster.
“I’m afraid not. Au revoir, Monsieur Gage. Poke about as you wish with what you know, and come back when you’re ready to consummate our alliance. Treasure has a way of bringing people together.”
Chapter 35
Diamond Rock, Le Diamant, looked lonely and somber when Jubal and his men ferried me out to its imposing bulk. Scrub and cactus clung to cliffs spattered with salt and guano. The Caribbean heaved uneasily against the rock’s base, the sea making a sigh like a giant. Sun and cloud wrestled for control of the sky.
“Looks as impregnable as the pyramids,” I said.
Jubal looked at the sheer cliffs. “Empty like the desert.”
We had the place to ourselves. Submerged volcanic reefs surrounded the monolith so ships steered clear. Seabirds wheeled around this Gibraltar as if playing sentry. Undersea gardens of seaweed undulated in the shallows. Time had carved caves into its flanks, but there was no easy landing place.
“We can anchor in the lee and swim ashore,” Jubal said. “The boys here will remain in the longboat and pretend we’re fishing.”
“Wear some shoes. Those cliffs look rugged.”
“Shoes are for the white man. I grip with my feet.”
So I plunged in with boots and Jubal did not. The sea was a delight, soothing as a bath, and I wondered again at doctors’ abhorrence of it. I bobbed a moment, feeling buoyant of care. Then I remembered what I was here for, and we swam. I timed a swell, let it pitch me toward a shelf of basalt, and clung while it receded. Then I heaved myself up, Jubal following. I balanced in my boots on narrow ledges, while he wrapped his feet as adhesive as a limpet.
“A rather awkward place to secrete a treasure,” I said.
“Yes, and it sticks up like a flag,” my companion observed. “Not secret at all. Maybe Ezili meant something else?”
Was I mistaken? “No, she knew this would draw me.”
We clambered about, looking unsuccessfully for hiding places, and then slowly worked our way to the top, clutching rubbery vines and resting on outcroppings. There were several small caves in the monolith, shallow and weather-beaten, but none gave sign of occupation. The recesses were barely deep enough to provide shade, let alone hide the riches of Montezuma.
The top of Diamond Rock was roomier than it appeared from the sea, with a craterlike depression that held a pool of rainwater. A shelf gave just enough room to camp. But there was no sign of excavation, hidden hatchways, or secret doors.
The view was magnificent. Martinique soared into tropic clouds in hazed green glory, surf prancing on its headlands. Parts of the Caribbean glittered where shafts of light from the broken overcast turned patches of sea silver. At six hundred feet elevation, we counted several sails that had been over the horizon at sea level; the rock gave command of the southern approaches to Fort-de-France like an eagle’s nest. One vessel, a warship by the look of her, was trimmed as if to go into Fort-de-France, and I had a boy’s delight in looking down at her like an eagle.
“When Harry’s bigger, I’ll bring him up here.”
“You have to get him back first. And persuade his mother he won’t fall.”
Straight down, the deep blue of ocean turned to sapphire and turquoise, mingled with the shadow of submerged rock. Our little longboat bobbed like a toy. Yet the monolith seemed as impregnable as the Great Pyramid had been, which I’d penetrated only with Astiza’s help. There we’d found an underground lake, a sluiceway, and . . .
“Jubal, what about an underwater entrance?”
“A cave, American?”
“A submerged sea cave. Leading, perhaps, to a grotto inside. That would make sense as a hiding place, wouldn’t it?”
“Only if you can get in, and get back out.”
“We’ve both proven we can swim, with caimans and cannon fire.”
He smiled. “I prefer not to jump from here.”
“No. Let’s pick our way down and spy underwater.”
We used the longboat to circuit the rock, looking for likely spots, but nothing was obvious. We finally anchored again on the southeast side, in an area I’d judged promising from above. It was spotted with submerged outcrops
, and the sea seemed to undercut the rock’s base.
“I’ll try first.”
I dove, opening my eyes in the salt water and being startled by the clarity. It was like looking through bottle glass. My first three dives yielded nothing, just a maze of underwater rocks and ravines with clean sand on the bottom. But on the fourth I spied triangular-shaped darkness, and as I neared a current swept me forward as if toward a drain. I caught the face of rock at the opening, hesitating. Huge sea fans waved in the surge. Total blackness beyond.
The emerald is in the diamond.
That promise didn’t prevent me from being wary.
I kicked for the silvery surface.
“I found a cave, but I’ve no idea where it goes. The current wants to suck you inside.”
“Let me try,” said Jubal. “I can hold my breath a long time.”
“You might not be able to get out.”
“He outwrestled a caiman, once,” put in Antoine. “We weren’t sure who was drowning whom.”
“Then tie a rope. When you need to come back, give a tug, and we’ll haul you to the surface.”
Jubal nodded, knotted a line, inhaled several deep breaths to fill his lungs as deeply as he could, and went over with a great splash. We played out the hemp, our boat rocking gently on the surface.
I counted. Two minutes went by.
Then three.
I began to worry. Surely Jubal couldn’t hold his breath this long. Was he dead? I waited for a tug, but none came.
Four minutes. Impossible.
“Maybe we should pull him in,” I muttered.
A rebel named Philippe put his hand on my arm. “Not yet, monsieur. That Jubal, he know what he is doing.”
So we waited, me fearing my new friend was drowned.
Finally there was a tug, urgent and insistent. I hauled as frantically as a fisherman whose net is full. Jubal burst the surface to blow like a whale, grasping the gunwale a moment to rest. Water beaded his head like diamonds.
“Mon Dieu, where did you go?”
“The current captured me. Whoosh, poor Jubal was carried like a leaf. So I felt frantically upward, and finally there was air. I came up, all breath gone, and was in some kind of cavity with a crevice giving dim light. It’s small, no treasure. But the water still goes somewhere. Too far for Jubal! So finally I had enough breath to dive again, but now I can’t swim against the current. So I tugged, and you pulled.”
It sounded like a death trap, but also the kind of place you might hide something not easily refound.
“By Poseidon’s lungs, how the devil can we follow the cave to its end?” We needed Robert Fulton’s plunging boat, the Nautilus. But of course I’d managed to help sink that submarine in Tripoli harbor. It’s hard to plan for all contingencies.
“We need a way to take our breath with us,” my black friend said.
And then it came to me, a solution as simple as Jubal’s canoe. Just as Harry had made me think of dams and destruction, my companion made me realize we could make do with a much cruder submarine.
“I think I know a way to get in, my friends. I don’t know about getting out.”
“Ah. It sounds like an Ethan Gage plan.”
My doughty platoon looked at me as if I really was a savant, and I congratulated myself for a moment on my cleverness. Then a geyser shot up not a hundred yards from our anchored longboat, and following close was the crack of its cannon, echoing across the water. We whirled in alarm. That warship that we’d spied from the summit wasn’t making for Fort-de-France, it was bearing down on Diamond Rock, flying not the French tricolor but the Union Jack of the Royal Navy. What the devil? The British had nothing better to do than shoot at a rowboat of Negro fishermen?
“Who are they?” Antoine asked.
“The enemy,” I said. “Except when they’re friends. Which I suppose they are, except when they aren’t. Don’t worry, European politics confuses even me.”
Could they suspect that the treasure was here? But that was impossible, wasn’t it? I was the only one with Ezili’s clue. “Let’s raise anchor, lads, and row for shore before they send another cannonball our way as encouragement. I’m going to lie down on the boards here so that all they spy are harmless black fishermen.”
“Yes, we play the fool.”
We pulled as fast as we could. Apparently the cannon shot had been only a warning to stay clear; the frigate hove to a half mile from the monolith and lowered its own longboat. The English seemed to have no interest in pursuing us.
“I think they’re going to explore the rock,” Jubal said. I peeked up. There was a great bustle on board the warship and a crowd of redcoats. Of all the times to take an interest in this jutting phallus of thorn and bird nests, the English chose now?
I have very strange luck.
And our task had just gotten much harder.
Chapter 36
I’m afraid I need your help.”
Few sentences have been harder to spit out. Leon Martel looked as triumphant as a Caesar viewing a barbarian chieftain in chains. He had my wife, he had my son, and now he thought he had me. The British arrival at Diamond Rock was going to make us allies of convenience. I’d seen his kind of smile a thousand times when gambling; it was the smile of a man who has seen the other’s cards and knows he has a winning hand.
“Bonaparte would be pleased,” he said.
“Napoleon sent me to negotiate for Louisiana, not to hunt for Aztec flying machines. If he knew what we’re trying to do, he’d throw us in the asylum with de Sade.”
“Don’t be so sure.” We were sitting on the terrace of Martel’s opulent headquarters, which I still didn’t understand how he could afford. The jungle was a throbbing wall of green, birds and frogs sending up chorus enough to mask any conversation from eavesdroppers. He took a sip of wine, sighing in appreciation at the vintage. Having me as a supplicant gave him even more pleasure. “And you need my help because?”
“The British navy has claimed Diamond Rock.”
“The British?” Now he sat erect.
“I’m afraid they’re making a fort of it.” It was typical Albion cheek. The limeys had sailed in as smart as you pleased, scaled the Caribbean Gibraltar like a bunch of goats, and winched artillery to the summit. Now they could bang away with impunity at any French vessel that ventured near. The cannon fire would force ships approaching from the south to make a long detour to safety to the west, which in turn required them to beat against wind and current to get into Fort-de-France. Many trading vessels wouldn’t bother, crippling Martinique’s economy. To add insult to injury, the English flew their flag from their perch. They’d even christened the monolith HMS Diamond Rock, but it was a ship that couldn’t be sunk. It was rudeness that bordered on the inspirational, and I couldn’t help admire the wicked genius of it. Yet the jack tars were squatting over what might be the world’s most fabulous treasure like an ignorant goose, atop an egg it doesn’t realize is golden.
“England!” Martel exclaimed again, with the same venom I’d heard from Napoleon. “They’re gobbling everything because their superior navy allows it.”
“I believe it’s called war.”
“We have a cowardly fleet.”
“No, a leaderless one. Your best naval officers fled or were executed during the Revolution. It takes decades of experience to command a ship of the line, and your nation called such experience royalism. You chased it away.”
Martel scowled. “Someday France will have its revenge, but for now we’re on the defensive. The English have been pirates and barbarians since the retreat of the Roman Empire. No one knows that better than America. You and France are natural allies, Gage. I tried to tell you that in Paris.”
“By drowning me in a tub of water?”
“I am sometimes impatient. But bad introductions can lead to good friendships. Now we’re partners, in search of a treasure that will have great importance strategically, historically, and scientifically. England will finally be con
quered, and the world will find itself at peace under the visionary direction of Napoleon Bonaparte. You will be rich, I will be powerful, and we’ll dine with the first consul and bring Joséphine gossip of her home village of Trois-Îlets.”
He certainly had imagination. Since I’ve the same fault, I was anything but encouraged; too much vision tends to obscure reality. Yet my Negroes and I needed technical help and a way to distract the British. So here I was plotting with a renegade policeman with my wife’s reluctant blessing.
When I’d returned to Martel’s château after scouting the rock, I insisted upon meeting Astiza before striking a bargain. Since my enemy sensed that my truculence had softened, he’d allowed us to meet alone in the plantation library.
It was a passionate reunion. I’d earlier watched a land crab on the beach stalk and pounce on a mate buried in the sand with the single-mindedness of a landlord on rent day. I’d done much the same with my beloved, striding across the room like a frenzied youth to seize and kiss her, my hand roaming from her waist to bottom while another clutched a breast. It had been a long separation! While I groped I was secretly alert for any sign of hesitation that might hint at infidelity or violation. But no, she kissed me back with ardor of her own, gasping when we broke for air, and melted against me in a way that made me want to take her on the carpet. Damnation that Crow and his guards were right outside the door.
“Did he assault you?” I asked.
“If he’d tried, one of us would be dead.”
“Why didn’t you wait for me in Saint-Domingue?”
She kissed me again and leaned against my shoulder. “He said that he had Horus and that the ultimate goal was likely Martinique. If I wanted my son, we must take temporary leave from my dangerous husband. Meanwhile, he tempted me with his own research into the legends. Ethan, I didn’t want to go into the jungle with Dessalines when my son was in Cap-François in the hands of a madman. So I went with Martel in hopes of safeguarding our boy until you found us. And I couldn’t explain. You’d disappeared from the library, and there was no time to find you.”
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