“What about the other mounds?”
“I don’t know. The bolite could have caused them too. Maybe there were small asteroids that came along.”
“What about the one at your house?”
“I don’t know about it.”
“Let’s measure this out,” suggested John. He pushed aside his breakfast plate and began to draw on a piece of paper from the side of the table. “Here’s the river surface and the land surface of the old priest’s marsh. The mound is about twenty feet above sea level. We have reached the water surface at a point about fifty feet down pretty much below the ground level of the marsh which we could say is sea level. Those remaining inlets have a lot of pressure built up and can flood us pretty quick if they let go.”
She added, pointing to his diagram, “From the doorway we climb up the tunnel to a point about twenty feet higher then back down again to the surface of the lake. I’d say that’s a ledge put in there by someone. In other words, it is a barrier to the river.”
She paused then said, “I think the lake is from bolite induced water that has filled it up from far below, maybe a mile down, a shaft stretching way out under the Chesapeake Bay.”
John said, “A shaft up from the bolite itself. You base all this on the water sample?”
“Yes, that’s the kind of salt water they found deep under the bolite impact site. Think of this whole thing as a slanted pipe and we are the top end of it where air inside the mound has apparently kept the water at its level and the outside river water is not coming in again because of the ledge and the inside water pressure.” She hesitated then said, “The mound is only the part showing. I think this lake and its full cavern stretches out in a bigger diameter than the mound circumference, perhaps out under the adjoining land beside the marsh area. It could be pretty big.”
“So let me get this straight. A long time ago a meteor hit the Chesapeake Bay and went into the bottom. From that meteor a shaft was blasted up to the ground surface here at our marsh, making a mound with a cavern underneath it. Let’s say the cave entrance was like a steam vent, letting off the pressure. Then salt water came up the shaft and made a lake in the cavern with an entry to the river. Let’s say at that time the water levels were the same, river and lake. Air pressure inside the cavern stopped the bolite water from rising more. I guess the weight of the river water had a pressure effect too. We clear so far.”
“Yes.”
“Then after centuries, the cavern is closed off by these warriors for some reason and the inlets are set up to make sure the water pressure of the river floods people out when they start to dig. Like a big stopper on a bottle.”
She said, “Sounds reasonable.”
“Then the bolite lake recedes to a lower level. Changes far below the ground caused that, I guess. So if the stopper is removed, the river will rush into the cavern lake, maybe flood it?”
She thought for a moment then said, “Since the lake has receded to this lower level for some reason, yes, that would happen. The ledge protects that flooding from happening. Whoever built this stopper as you call it put the ledge there to stop the water from coming back in. If the hole fills with water when we excavate it, and if the ledge collapses so the river water will come in and fill the lake up to the river level, then I suspect there would be some kind of calamity. For sure, any remaining air pressure in the cavern roof would be pushed out and that might start the bolite shaft water rising up again. It’s a pretty complicated balance.”
When they arrived at the site Jesse came up to Andy right away, dragging the boat kit beside him. The old man said, “I tried to sneak it in here but I’m not sure I succeeded. Any of those people at the gate might have figured out it was a raft I was carrying from the shape of the package. Pretty hard to disguise a rubber boat.”
Andy agreed. “Yes, questions will start up about our using a boat at our dig, big questions.”
Mouse said, pointing to the road, “Speak of the Devil. Peterson is at the gate again.”
The reporter from the Baltimore Sun was jauntily leaning against the gatepost, his camera slung from his neck.
“I’ll head him off,” John said.
“Mister Peterson, what can I do for you?” John said, when he got to the gate.
“I want your comment about the death of Celebrity Brown.”
John said nothing, just looked at the man.
“I guess the police have not contacted you yet,” Peterson said.
“No, why would they?” asked John.
“Seems like you are present at a lot of murder scenes. You were at her apartment only a few days ago. Mister Neale.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with her death.”
“I’m told that the Baltimore police think you do.”
“Why?” asked John. He stared directly into Peterson’s eyes but the reporter did not back down.
“Simple. You were seen at the fire that burned her father to death. The word I get is that is too much of a coincidence.”
“Coincidence?” asked John.
“Yes. Want to comment on why were you seen at the pawnbroker shop that belonged to her father?” Peterson persisted.
“On private business.”
“We can help you, Mister Neale. If you want us to tell your side of the story you should tell us.”
“I have nothing more to say. I don’t know anything about her death.”
The Chief’s sedan arrived at that moment, its tires kicking up gravel as it slid to a stop.
“You’re talking to the wrong man,” the Chief said when he got to Peterson’s side.
Peterson grinned and said, “You covering for him, Chief?”
“No need. Baltimore is looking for someone else. You better check with your paper.”
Peterson looked confused. He looked down at his recorder as if the instrument would tell him what to do next.
The Chief continued, “The man of interest is Celebrity’s pimp, a man named Taint. He disappeared about the same time she was found burned to death, and, from what they tell me, police are looking for him all over the state.”
Peterson put away his recorder and went back to his car in a hurry. He checked his cell phone and drove away.
The Chief leaned toward John. “We checked that cable for the hoist Mouse was using. You can tell Mouse it was definitely cut.”
“I was lucky.”
“Here’s the thing. We don’t think it was aimed at you or anyone special. Too random. We think it was done to slow you guys down.”
“Who would want to slow us down?” John asked, his face curious. “You’d think the bad guys would want us to find any treasure fast so they could come in and steal it,”
“Neale, your guess is as good as anyone’s. Just watch your back. If it’s this guy Taint, from what I hear, he’s a very devious and vicious man. He could be anywhere around the town. The next time you might not be so lucky.”
Chapter 19
Friday July 19, 9AM
As the Chief drove away, John was aware of the mob standing along the outside of the chain link fence. He could smell the sweat on their unwashed bodies in the growing summer heat. That smell competed with the diesel smoke from the pump engine on Mouse’s fire truck. He also picked up wafts of the natural odor of loblolly pines and the dead fish at the tide washed river shoreline.
He could see it in their faces. Their eyes were anxious with hunger and illness. They moved aside for John as Jesse held the chain link fence gate open but the movements were slow and deliberate as if deep in their minds were hatreds that were moving to the surface like lava in a volcano. He wondered what would happen when the eruption, the final impatience with their condition, came forth on this once peaceful country road. Or, perhaps, there would be no eruption, just a melting away of the fury as the leader, Guthrie, moved them to a new place to parade their injustices. What was it that the Monsignor said? The poor will always be with us, which assumed by its statement that the problems of the poor a
nd homeless could and would never be solved.
At the same time he could see that a great number continued working on Steve’s property, circling the mound and working up and down its slopes. The trails out from the center were expanding with the mound center shrinking. It seemed to John that they had more haste in their movements this morning but he wondered if this movement was but another sign of the growing unease and desperation brought about by the misery of these people.
He heard the roar of a powerful automobile. A red sports roadster drove up, its quick braking throwing dust and small stones. In the driver’s seat was a middle aged man dressed in a business suit, carefully pressed and lightweight for the summer heat. He waved at John and climbed out of the car.
“Yessir, Mister Pratt.” said John.
“You better start calling me Bob like the rest of the people, our family, at the firm. I’ve ordered your car so it should be in Baltimore direct from Germany when you get to town.”
John stuck out his hand and smiled as they shook.
Bob said, “I thought I’d drive down and see you myself.”
John answered, “Nice car.”
“We all make good money.”
Pratt followed John’s gaze back towards the homeless people and then said, as he cleaned the road dust off his car fender and sat back against its polished surface, “I also wanted to talk with you about something else.”
“What?”
He moved John back to the fence and away from the mob. He said, “Monsignor Carter tells me that you have been thinking about his cathedral fund.”
“Yes, Bob,” John said. “He asked that if we find any of Father Tom’s funds that they be given to the cathedral, yes.”
Bob said, leaning toward John as if he had a secret to impart, “I’d like to ask you to consider doing just that. The church in Baltimore is one of our best clients.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” said John, trying to smile at his future boss. His mind was whirling. If money were found, or anything else in the tunnel that was valuable, the job at Pratt would impact what he did with Father Tom’s estate. If he went to Baltimore he would have to sacrifice his freedom of choosing the best path for the money. He could see what Andy was talking about. She was so right. The more you make the more you have to give away.
They talked about Baltimore for a few minutes and Pratt finally left, pleased with what John said to him. John tried to be non-committal but he knew where he stood. The money would go where his new boss wanted it to go, regardless of what Father Tom had asked for on a small piece of legal paper.
The gate closed as John went to the dig. The crowd pressed forward. The appearance of the red car had stirred them. Now they mumbled among themselves, not ready to try to enter but angry as if they were witnessing a sellout, words between businessmen that meant they were being sold out once more.
At the site, John and Andy were busy going over the instructions for inflating the raft. Jesse had brought a second one for future use by Mouse or the Captain. Mouse looked over John’s shoulder as he read the booklet. He assured John about the quality of the boat Jesse had procured as he said, “Sevylor is a good boat and that pump, the 2500, is the one used in racing these rafts.”
John nodded. This model would be eight feet long and would carry about six hundred pounds when fully inflated, giving them about three hundred pounds of return cargo, if they found some rock samples or even treasure to bring back.
A strong breeze was working up on the river, rustling the marsh grass and forcing some of the spectator boats to pull anchor and return to River Sunday. Birds began to chatter and take flight and the sky was turning black on the southern horizon.
The Captain stood at the edge of the river and looked up at the clouds coming forward. “We’re going to have a blow,” he said.
Mouse replied, “I’ve been expecting this. I knew that we were getting off lucky with the weather. My daddy says this storm is a bad one. What he hears from the television is that it’s going to be a lot more wind than we’re used to. A lot more water too.”
“Does he think it will flood us here?” asked the Captain.
“I expect if it gathers the water in the lower bay in a surge, the tides up this far are going to be very high. We might have water reach the well if that’s what you mean.”
The Captain said, “I might as well warn you, Mouse, that a storm came up at Oak Island and all the work was destroyed. Lot to be learned from what happened at Oak Island,” the Captain went on. “Flooded the well they dug because the storm surge wiped out all the expensive cofferdam they had constructed to stop the inlets. The well was flooded quickly and that ended the project.”
The Captain’s face, usually filled with lines of humor, was very serious as he eyed the black clouds on the horizon.
“We’ll have to work fast on our exploration,” he said
The winds got stronger very quickly. During the next hour, they observed the winds tear down many of the homeless tents across the road. Pieces of canvas flapped away forcing the people to chase their few possessions as objects cart-wheeled across the muddy ruts.
John realized that the old priest’s site had one advantage. It still had its tree and brush cover while the other mounds were in the open and desolate. The swamp, except for the road into the site which had been cut to allow entry of Mouse’s trucks, was sheltered from gusts. The winds tore at the trees but not at the well and its machinery.
Next door he could see Ricker’s crane working very hard at the farmer’s site. It was straining, emitting clouds of black smoke, with the weight of whatever they were bringing up. He could see the top of a large pile of excavated clay and earth behind the fence. Tolman himself was out with a stepladder, hammering repairs to the fence boards which were buckling and collapsing from the winds. Through the limited slots opened from blown down boards John could glimpse more dirt already excavated. Bent, the man still wearing his black hat, was occasionally in view directing the crane in its work.
John wondered if they had struck water also. He did not see any pumps. Whatever they were doing they were deep enough to cause the digging noises that Mouse had heard. Perhaps even with all the work they were doing, they had not got down deep enough in any one place. Also, from what the Captain had disclosed about Oak Island, inlets were directed at one lone hole. Other holes dug in its vicinity did not strike water unless they hit the main inlet pattern, in other words, when they came close to the territory of the first well. Some of the other trial Oak Island holes never stuck water showing that they bypassed the inlets completely.
John heard the shouts first. The first indication that trouble had occurred at Steve’s farm where the homeless were working was the frantic call for help. The screams echoed over the nearby river and resounded back against the trees above John.
John ran to the gate to see what the problem was. Guthrie, his robe flowing behind him, ran across the road, shouting to Hoadley who was guarding the gate. “We need your help. Please. Right away. Come with me.” He saw John and called,” Please, we need your help.”
John could see a crowd gathering at the excavation area. He heard the town siren and knew that Steve had called in the rescue team of the River Sunday Fire Department.
As John and Andy rushed into the camp the crowd stood back and let them pass. John felt as if he were a man carrying a flag of truce going through an invading army. Behind the faces of the men and women along the trail was a great deal of anguish that was masking anger and he knew that. How long the worry over this emergency could keep these people from returning to their hatred and potential violence he did not know. He looked at Andy beside him. He had tried to keep her back at the well. He had worried even more about her safety since the cable was cut but he smiled at himself, at his chauvinism. Andy was tough and was probably worrying about his safety too.
Unlike the farmer’s site, no large crane was available for excavation, and unlike Father Sweeney’s dig, no experts like Mouse
and the Captain were present. Instead Guthrie and the others had relied on amateur men and women with shovels and buckets. With this method they had made remarkable progress. They had a huge central area with a great diameter that had cut the mound down almost to the level of the rest of the field. The trenches expanding outward had caused the greatest problem however. The shoring was poorly constructed and that was what had caused a cave in one of the trenches. As he peered down into the dig he did note that they were having no moisture problems, indicating that the inlets probably did not reach this location.
“You didn’t shore it properly,” Mouse thundered from behind John as the big man ran up.
Guthrie nodded. Father Phillip had come out of the house to join him. The leader said, “No, we didn’t. I’m afraid we had to rely on the Lord’s blessing.”
He went on, sweeping his arms upward as in prayer, “We are excavating the collapsed walls over our brother but we seem to be getting nowhere. The sides keep collapsing on him. We think he will die.” Below in the trench, several men worked quickly, throwing dirt back behind them as they worked to free their fellow miner.
Guthrie looked over at the Tolman farm. “We appreciate your coming to help us. We sent for the crane but the farmer would not provide it to us. Mister Ricker told us, “Preacher, by the time we get it over to your cave in, the man will be dead anyway. He doesn’t have enough air to last down there.”
Mouse shook his head in disgust at Ricker and said, “I don’t agree with Wink. We don’t know that for sure. We have to try.” He called down to the workers, ordering them to dig at the cave in from more than one direction. Four trenches heading in to the collapsed part of the original trench were started immediately.
Gold (River Sunday Romance Mysteries Book 4) Page 18
