Seabury, a Chief Boatswain’s Mate, moved to a PA system and switched it on. He called the bridge to check in with the Captain.
“How does it look up there?” Seabury asked.
“Like a bitch in a witch’s brew,” the Captain said.
A bolt of static came over the line. It cut off the Captain. Moments later, he came back on.
“I saw you out on deck,” he said. “What’s going on?”
Seabury gulped. “The forward cargo hatch. I thought it jarred loose in the storm.”
The Captain grunted over the phone. “You know the rules. No one out on deck in stormy weather.”
“Tie me to the mast,” said Seabury, joking. “I’m good for two lashes before I flame out.”
The Captain chuckled. “Maybe I’ll add on another five. Cut deep into that pampered Hawaiian ass all the girls go gaga over.”
“Yeah, don’t I wish.” Seabury changed the subject to avoid dwelling on the rule violation too long. “What’s it look like up there?”
“Give it another couple of hours,” the Captain said. “By then, we should have skirted around most of the storm for calmer seas. The National Typhoon Center indicates the storm is passing, moving west out of the Java Sea. I’ll be glad to get out of this soup pile.”
“I agree,” Seabury said. “After the storm passes, I need to go down into Number Two Hold. I heard a lot of cargo banging around down there. I’ll form a work party. With any luck, we’ll have the place shipshape before dinner. I’d like to paint a more optimistic picture, Captain, but I’m afraid it’s going to be a mess down there.”
“This storm’s the worse I’ve seen in years,” the Captain said. “The insurance companies are gonna cry like babies when the claims start pouring in.”
Seabury responded with a nod of his head. “The claims adjusters should have their hands full sorting this out.” Moments later, the Captain hung up, and Seabury joined his men for coffee.
Two hours later, the ship reached calmer seas. A call came over the PA system for all hands to muster for general quarters out on deck. Opening the water-tight hatch to the mess hall, Seabury stepped aside as the galley crew and his deck crew filed outside. Engineers, not standing watch, came up from the engine room and filed out on deck next to the rest of the crew. The security and medical crews mustered nearby on the port side of the main deck. Staff officers took roll. Everyone present and accounted for. A message came back to the Captain, all hands onboard. A few minutes later, from the bridge, the Boatswain’s mate of the watch piped out the signal for all hands to disperse.
Gathering his crew together, Seabury moved quickly. For his own safety, he allowed Harry Hooper to accompany him to the deck overlooking Number Two Hold. He would go down into the hold alone to assess the damages and still have backup in case something happened to him in the darkness of the hold below.
Voices grumbled as he said with a faint smile, “I need to go first…to take a peek.”
Boots Randolph spoke up. “Boats, what if the cargo’s shifting all over the deck down there. Won’t that—?”
“Thanks, Boots. I appreciate your concern,” said Seabury cutting in. “I’ll have a quick look around. If anything happens, Harry will be there as backup.”
Boots stared down, as if disappointed.
“Don’t worry,” Seabury said, glancing at him and then at the crew. “All of you will have time to muck the place out when I get back.” The crew groaned. Seabury smiled.
“Meantime,” he said to Boots, “take the rest of the crew and check all winches and hatch covers on the forward deck. While you’re at it, check the rigging, too. This storm’s liable to have pulled them loose up there. The seas are much calmer now, thank God.”
On the horizon, a band of sunlight poked through a grim line of dark clouds. It came back directly at them and cast a yellowish mist across the sky.
Seabury scanned the sky and looked back at his men. At the moment, his life revolved around his job as a Chief Boatswain. He wasn’t married. Had very little social life. Black coffee, midnight watches, and vast stretches of open ocean occupied his time. Pinup girls with big hooters lined the walls of the forward gear locker where he spent most of his time.
He dispersed Boots and the other crew members, and they headed toward the bow of the ship. Then, he and Harry went below to the ‘tween deck above Number Two Hold.
“I’ll go below and check it out,” said Seabury. He pointed the flashlight down into the darkness then glanced back at Harry. “Stay here. I won’t be long.” Harry nodded. Seabury smiled. “If I don’t come back, toss a few flowers over my casket,” he said jokingly, but Harry took him seriously.
“Je-zus, Boats. That’s fucking spooky.”
Seabury laughed a little and went below. Number Two Hold looked dark and damp. A wet, moldy smell hung in the air. The ship creaked and moaned under the stresses of the wind and rain. The depth of water and the intense, hydrostatic pressure beyond the steel bulkhead concerned him. He swung the flashlight up on the steel wall in front of him. No cracks in the bulkhead. He breathed a sigh of relief and glanced back at the damage that surround him with a look of dismay. Egyptian antiquities from Cairo—most purchased by a Jakarta businessman with deep pockets—lay scattered all over the deck.
Seabury shrugged and shook his head. He’s going to cry like a baby when he sees this. Switching his light back and forth in the darkness, he saw the carnage beneath his feet. Wooden crates had broken open. Wet, soggy clay, shoots of damp straw, and chips of shattered pottery lay scattered everywhere. Large stone urns rolled back and forth across the deck. He stepped quickly to the side to avoid them. Off to his right, he heard a loud crash and shone his flashlight in that direction.
Moving gingerly among the mess, he switched the light lower onto the mouth of the large stone urn. It rested on its side, wedged in a corner between a load of cardboard boxes and containers bursting open to reveal sodden cartons of home implements. In the dim, murky light, he saw the fiery figure of the Egyptian Sun God, Ra, staring up at him. The jagged edge of a large crack zigzagged through the middle of his face.
In the gloom and darkness, Seabury held the light steady in his hand. A lump of clay and wet, thick straw stuck out the mouth of the urn. Cracks and chips of glazed enamel shone under the light. For a moment, he stood frozen in his tracks. His hand gripped a steel bar attached to the implement boxes as the ship rolled to the side and then snapped back into place. The bones of the ship creaked and groaned around him. Then silence. The darkness beyond the light closed in on him. The strange, eerie feeling of being locked in the quietness of an empty tomb reached out and seized him. The hair at the back of his neck rose as goose bumps laced his skin.
Shivering, he shook off the feeling of isolation, aware now of Harry’s presence at the entrance of the hold. He squatted down next to the urn and brought the light closer. It flickered in a hot, white glow across an object that had spilled out onto the deck.
Tense and jittery, Seabury knew what it was the minute he saw it. No need to pinch himself. He was wide awake and not dreaming. Inside a bed of clay, the papyrus map stared up at him. Reaching down, he pulled it into his hands, stood and brought the map closer to the light. In the silence and darkness, he looked at it, studied it. As his heart beat faster, his body shook in fear and nervous apprehension.
In the dim light, the map showed several pictures. He saw a tribal king, a red cross insignia, and hands painted on the walls of a cave. A garden built inside a temple caught his eye. An avid archeological buff, Seabury recognized the pictures from a plethora of books on ancient worlds he’d read. His travels to Southeast Asian ports also provided additional knowledge. He had the ability to recognize symbols from ancient languages encrypted on maps and antiquities. He could discern those from Indonesia and Borneo. It was a large map, filled with elaborate details imbedded on a sheet of papyrus. He looked closer, recognizing the writing. It was Javanese—that much he could tell.
&nbs
p; Now, he focused on a cave he saw inside the map. Arrows pointed northeast from the Makassar Strait. He was aware of the strait from the times he’d traveled there. It bordered East Kalimantan, in the Indonesian part of eastern Borneo. He saw paintings that lined the walls of the cave. He couldn’t be sure of their age, but he guessed they must have been thousands of years old, maybe older. They showed the hands of artists painted on the walls. Was this proof that ancient migrations lived there thousands of years ago? One large hand stood out from the others. It pointed to a river winding like a serpent through the dense jungle terrain back outside the cave.
At the top of the map, the image of a tribal king stood out from the other pictures. He pointed down at two objects below him—one an ancient temple, the other a red cross. Seabury’s eyes locked onto the temple and then the garden built inside. He looked closer. He blinked and tried to catch his breath. Immediately, he recognized the yellow substance from books he’d read on trees and plants. It streaked in thin lines across the walls of the cave. A soft, yellowish saffron pigment ground from the bark of an evergreen shrub. Gold, he thought. He did all he could to keep from shouting. Right there, before his eyes, was a secret treasure map.
Seabury swallowed hard, his mouth dry. In the ensuing excitement, he failed to recognize the problem facing him. If the map was real, he wondered if anyone would be able to interpret it. There were probably a handful of people left on the planet with that kind of knowledge.
Hmm. Quickly, he stuffed the map into the inside pocket of his waterproof coat when he heard footsteps on the ladder. He turned back, headed toward the ladder, and started to climb out of the Hold.
“Up.” Seabury pointed the flashlight past Harry Hooper’s head. The light sprayed off the steel bulkhead in a flickering pattern of yellow sparkles. Then, it swung back into the darkness at Seabury’s side.
“I was worried,” Hooper said. He flashed the wolverine smile again, his eyes wide. A look of concern swept across his face as he held onto the rung above him.
“I know you ordered me to stay near the hatch, but I was…ah…concerned about the extent of the damage below. You know…the hidden dangers.”
“You think I shouldn’t have gone down there alone. Is that it, Hooper?”
“Well, Boats. I…I…” he stammered until Seabury smiled and waved a hand in front of his face.
“It’s okay, Hoops. I appreciate the concern.”
They climbed the ladder and passed through the ‘tween deck, went up another ladder, and came out on the main deck. Randolph and the other seamen stood near the hatch as they came out.
“It’s a mess.” Seabury jammed a thumb back over his shoulder. “Crates and boxes busted wide open. Urns shattered to pieces, rolling all over from hell to breakfast.” He shook his head. “That Jakarta businessman—the shipping invoice lists him as Cyril Barat—is going to pull all his hair out. When he sees what’s happened to his load of antiquities, he’ll hit the roof. Probably got insurance, though.”
Seabury had no idea whether Cyril Barat’s goods were insured. The discovery of a treasure map wasn’t something he wanted to share with anyone. He knew he had to divert the crew’s attention from what lay below. The last thing he wanted was for them to ask questions. The discovery of a treasure map wasn’t something he want to share with anyone. It could cause chaos among the crew. The last thing he needed now was trouble.
The map was stuffed deep in the pocket of his coat and would stay there until he got back to his cabin. There, in the privacy of his room, he would study it. Already, his mind was spinning with the endless possibilities of what this rare find offered him.
“Okay, ladies,” Seabury said at last to his crew. “It’s time to form a work party. There’s a lot of junk to clean out down below before we knock off for dinner.”
They got together and went below into Number Two Hold.
* * * *
Three hours later, at six p.m., the Hold was clean. Crates, boxes, and urns lashed back up against the bulkhead, safe and secure. After dinner, Seabury returned to his cabin to study the map. Half an hour later, he spun the dial back and forth on his safe and aligned the numbers. He twisted the handle at the bottom and pulled the door open. Placing the map in a plastic bag, he felt a funny feeling in his stomach. His hands shook excitedly as he put the map inside the safe and closed the door.
At one time, Seabury had read the entire Bible. Not once but twice, all the way through, with a sense of pride and accomplishment each time he finished it. For many years, Biblical scripture provided a source of comfort and a way of turning back his enemies. Sitting on the edge of the bed now, he heard the passage from Genesis race through his mind. The river ran out of Eden to water the garden. The river flows around the whole land of Havilah, where there is gold; and the gold of the land is good.
The map in his possession was a Javanese map. Seabury wasn’t a historian or a Biblical scholar, but he recognized the geography, no matter how ancient it might be. Muddled thoughts raced through his mind, but he was sure of one thing—the map in his possession was unlike any he’d ever seen.
This one showed a garden as ancient as the original Garden of Eden. To his surprise, this garden was far removed from any located in the land of Havilah, as stated in the Bible. If he found the garden, and it happened to be located somewhere else in the world, wouldn’t that refute the claim made by the early Christian Church Fathers about the Garden of Eden being in the Middle East?
Sure it would. Holy, sweet Jesus. It would.
Seabury stopped. His mind spun in a million directions. His heart thumped wildly inside his chest. Then, in a sudden burst of insight, he began to question the things he’d once believed in. Had the biblical sages somehow gotten it wrong about the location of the Garden of Eden? Or were they part of a fiendish cabal formed to dupe mankind and control them with their biblical nonsense? According to popular belief, the Garden of Eden was located somewhere in Iraq and destroyed by the Great Flood. If the Garden remained buried under piles of sediment, then its actual location could never have been known. Wouldn’t it shake up the entire Judeo-Christian world if the Garden turned out to be somewhere else instead of in the land of Mesopotamia as Biblical scholars and archeologists stated. What would that do to the Bible’s authenticity?
It would destroy it. In the dim light of the cabin, Seabury stared back at the wall safe. He couldn’t keep his hands from shaking. Did the map inside hold the key to the big mystery of the ages? He shook his head and put off the thought. It was too much for his tired brain to handle right now.
Chapter Two
The call reached Cyril Barat’s office in downtown Jakarta.
“Goddammit, Marcus. I’m furious.” Barat’s thin, forty-five-year-old Indonesian face twisted into a mask of brown wrinkles. At eleven o’clock in the morning, he sat at his desk in the office of Eastern Temple Coal Mining Corporation. The office, located in a steel and glass skyscraper, stood fifteen stories above the street below. He’d just learned the news about the Egyptian artifacts he’d ordered, many of them destroyed in a violent storm at sea. Needless to say, he wasn’t happy.
Barat asked, “Why didn’t you send the map via FedEx?”
“I know. Sorry about that.” Marcus Chow, a Singaporean antiquities dealer, spoke in a low, flat voice filled with indifference. “I thought it was safer to hide it in one of the urns in case the Customs Officials got suspicious of the FedEx parcel and opened or confiscated it.” His voice lowered. “Sometimes, things don’t work out the way we plan them, do they?”
“And it’s disappeared—the map—is that it?” asked Barat.
“I’m afraid so. I checked the container the artifacts were loaded into instead. It’s gone. Somebody—I don’t know who—maybe one of the deckhands, or a longshoremen working on the dock got his grubby little hands on it.”
“Well, what kind of a map was it?”
“A treasure map.” A slight chuckle. “But who knows how authentic it is.”<
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A pause came over the line. Then, Barat’s voice came back on.
“You sent me a treasure map in one of the urns. Now, it’s gone. I’m going to kill you, Marcus.”
Marcus Chow chuckled. “I know, I know. You’re upset now, and you should be. I should have sent it by courier, but you know me…” He snickered. “You do have insurance, though, to cover the loss. At least that’s some consolation.”
Barat hung up rudely. Irresponsible jerk. He was sick and tired of Marcus Chow. It wasn’t the first time he’d botched antiquity orders and laughed in his face. A miserable apology as he laughed even louder proved the idiot wasn’t the least bit sorry. In Barat’s world, there were no boundaries, no limitations. In his twisted, impulsive, and amoral mind, there were no restrictions on what he was capable of doing to anyone he regarded as his enemy. Marcus Chow was now his enemy.
“Enemies,” he uttered bitterly into the silence, “I know how to take care of them.”
Pulling his diary toward him, he leafed through it and made the call on a secure line inside his office. Speaking in a firm voice, Barat said, “Marcus Chow, remember him?” A pause. No reply. Barat continued. “Well, the beached whale’s come up on my list. I want something done about him.”
“Go on,” a voice said.
“I need you on a plane to Singapore this afternoon.” Barat pressed the receiver to his ear, beating back the protests. “Yes, I know about the one-hour time difference between Jakarta and Singapore. Still, that gives you plenty of time to get the job done tonight. Yes, the usual. Small arms fire is okay,” said Barat dismissively. “Go now, and get it done.” Barat filled in the details and hung up as quickly as he’d dialed the number.
Barat closed the Venetian blinds over the front window in his office until the room darkened, wanting privacy. He stepped over to the door and locked it. Sounds filtered through from the outer office—typing, phones ringing, a muffled sound of voices out there beyond the locked door. On the intercom, he buzzed his secretary and told her to hold his calls. He walked around the desk and sank down in the soft burgundy cushions of his swivel chair. In the silence and darkness, he entered another of his strange, perplexing moods.
Eden Two Page 2
