by David Wood
“Looking for a two-hundred year old lantern and maybe running afoul of dangerous men?” Bones fixed him with a blank stare that, moments later, split into a broad grin. “I’m in!”
CHAPTER 5
“This chick we’re meeting, do you think she’s cute?” Bones winked at a pair of redheads who were walking along the street, headed in the opposite direction. One giggled and slowed a step, but her friend took her by the hand and hurried her along.
“I have no idea.” Dane had followed up on the only lead Remillard could give them. Andrews’ daughter initially greeted his call with suspicion but, when he explained the situation and mentioned Remillard’s name, she warmed up enough to agree to a meeting.
“Did she sound skinny? I don’t like skinny women. Well, they aren’t my favorite.”
Not for the first time, Dane wondered if Bones was doing all this just to get under Dane’s skin.
The smell of fish hung in the hot air as they crossed beneath the Central Artery and downtown Boston unfurled before them. Crossing the high, uneven cobblestones that paved the area around Quincy Market, they stopped in front of Faneuil Hall.
Built in 1742, the three-story brick structure had served as both a meeting house and marketplace, and was one of America’s most renowned historical landmarks. A grasshopper weather vane, a tourist favorite in its own right, perched atop the golden dome and white cupola. Dane and Bones found seats near the statue of Samuel Adams, cousin to John Adams and the original lieutenant-governor of Massachusetts, and settled into wait.
“I think this might be her.” Bones indicated an attractive young woman. “Nice.”
Dane had to agree. She moved with a grace that made her seem to walk on air, rather than paving stones. She wore a tight T-shirt and snug fitting jeans with the cuffs up around her calves. She wore her black hair tied up in a ponytail, and clutched a battered leather satchel as if her life depended on it.
She stopped a few paces away and pushed her sunglasses up to rest atop her head, revealing pale blue eyes. “Mister Maddock?”
Before Dane could reply, Bones stepped in, grabbed her hand, and held it gently. “That’s Maddock, and I’m his best friend, Bones. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Andrews.”
“You can call me Jillian.”
“Can I carry your bag for you, Jillian?” Bones reached for the satchel, but Jillian pulled it tight against her chest.
“No.” Her face tensed, then relaxed. “I’m sorry, it’s just, I don’t know you.”
“How about we sit down for minute?” Dane patted the spot next to him. “We can get acquainted before we talk shop.”
Jillian nodded and settled down next to Dane. Bones straddled a wrought iron armrest and looked down at them with interest.
“Like I said on the phone, we’re very sorry for your loss,” Dane began.
Jillian smiled, tears brimming in her eyes. “Thank you. I just finished up at the funeral home. No memorial service, no burial, according to his wishes. He wanted his ashes sprinkled in Boston Harbor on Independence Day.” Tears welled in her eyes, so Dane changed the subject.
They filled the next few minutes with small talk, Dane and Bones telling Jillian about their service in the Navy, and she, in turn talking about her father and his interests. Finally, the conversation turned to the lantern.
“What can you tell us about this missing lantern?” Dane asked.
Jillian exhaled, her face downcast.
“I moved back home not long ago, and I quickly realized the lantern was Dad’s passion, maybe you could call it his obsession.” She paused. “And I suspect it was his downfall.” She stared straight ahead, her eyes cloudy. “Some professors only want to write. Others just want to teach. Dad loved to search for history.”
“What set him on this particular search?” Bones asked.
“He was always interested in the history of Boston: how she was formed, how the natives handled the influx of colonists...”
“I could tell you how natives feel about colonists, but I don’t want to sound like my grandfather.” Bones’ smile didn’t reach his eyes.
One corner of Jillian’s mouth twitched, but she came no closer to a smile than that. “He was fascinated with studying how Boston evolved from colony to town to city, especially leading up to the American Revolution. That was his favorite period in history.”
“Mine too.” Dane couldn’t get enough of Colonial America and the Revolutionary War.
“Anyway, Dad spent most of his time focusing on the single most important aspect of our country’s history: breaking away from King George and the throne of England. Of course, it all started April 18. 1775.”
Dane and Bones listened as Jillian seemed to transform into a history professor. She spoke with the confidence of a well-educated woman. Dane figured her to be in her mid-thirties. She touched on many of the things Remillard had told them, but they didn’t interrupt her. She seemed to find the experience cathartic, as if the retelling purged her painful memories.
“When the first lantern was rediscovered, he became a man possessed.”
Dane scratched his chin and stared up at Samuel Adams. The mystery had taken hold of him, and he needed to solve it. He leaned back a little to get a better look at Jillian. Something told him that behind that pretty face laid a strong, determined woman. In spite of her grief and apparent fear, she clearly had not given up on her father’s research. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have met them today.
“I know our involvement in this is strange, but I gave your father my word that I’d find the lantern. I won’t deny, I’d probably want to do it anyway. I love the Colonial period and I’ve never solved a mystery before. I guess I just want to make sure you understand that we’re not trying to steal his glory or anything. I just want to see this thing through.”
Jillian narrowed her eyes and seemed to look through Dane. “I don’t know why, but I feel like I can trust you. Besides, Dad had been getting weird phone calls. I’d feel better if I wasn’t alone in this.”
“So, you intend to search for the lantern?” Bones asked.
“I want to finish what he started.”
“Right now, the only possible lead we have is the Somerset. Is there anything else you can tell us? Anything to point us in the right direction?”
“Not much. He was paranoid about his project, so he kept his knowledge in his head. However, I have this.” Jillian opened the leather satchel and withdrew an item wrapped in a hand towel. She unwrapped it, and held it out for them both to see. Sunlight gleamed off its long silver surface.
“What is it?” Bones leaned in for a better look.
“It’s a butter knife.” Dane frowned, wondering why she would show them this.
“It’s not just any butter knife,” Jillian corrected. She turned it, hesitated for half a heartbeat, and handed it to Dane. “Look at it closely.”
The knife felt surprisingly heavy, but was otherwise unremarkable. He turned it over in his hands, and then held it up for a closer look. A pair of initials, clear as day, rested right above the hilt. “Whoa!”
“Did you see your reflection?” Bones asked. “I hate to break it to you, Maddock, but you’re not that handsome.”
“Take a look for yourself.” Dane held the knife out so Bones could see the initials.
“What does P.R. stand for? Was this made in Puerto Rico?”
This time, Jillian did manage a smile. “Paul Revere. According to my father, this is a piece of flatware that he made for Samuel Adams sometime before the Revolution.”
“How did your father get his hands on it?” Dane asked.
“He stole it.”
“Huh?” Dane and Bones chorused a little too loudly for Jillian’s liking. She looked around, as if searching for eavesdroppers.
“Sorry,” Dane said.
“It’s all right. I’m just on edge. Anyway, Dad stole this knife from the Paul Revere House.” She lowered her voice as she spoke. “I don’t know
the whole story. He just said it was special, and he would put it to a better use than just lying there on display.”
“What was so special about the knife?” Dane asked.
“There was something odd my father saw in it, though I don’t know what.”
“So he picked it up.”
“And ran with it. His research indicated that Revere made place settings for many important men of that time: John Hancock, John Adams, and James Swan. Pretty much all the Sons of Liberty.”
“It’s got a weird edge to it,” Bones observed. “Instead of the fine serrations on one side, like you’d normally see, the grooves are on both sides, and they’re kind of square.” He handed the knife back to Jillian. “What’s the connection between this knife and the lanterns?”
“That’s just it. He never told me.” Tears once again welled in her eyes. “And now he’s gone.”
CHAPTER 6
“So, we have to figure out the connection between a butter knife and a lantern.” Dane shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what he had just said.
“Paul Revere made them both?” Bones asked.
“It is entirely possible,” Jillian replied, back into teaching mode. “Revere also worked with brass, and if the other lantern is any indication, the second one would be made of the same material.”
“That’s not much of a connection though, is it?” Bones waved at a pesky swarm of gnats that had taken a liking to him.
“Did anyone get a good look at the first lantern when they found it? Were there any markings like this on it?” Dane asked, pointing to the Revere brand on the knife.
Jillian shrugged. “That, I couldn’t tell you.”
“Do you have anything else that could help us?”
Jillian reached back into the satchel and pulled out two items: a folded map, as well as a hardcover book entitled Historic Lighthouses of Cape Cod. She handed both over to Dane.
He immediately opened the map. Bones looked over his shoulder.
“What is it?” Bones asked.
“It’s a map of the Freedom Trail,” Jillian said. The Freedom Trail incorporated many of Boston’s most important historical sites, and numbered among the city’s most popular tourist destinations.
“There are some spots that have an X drawn through them,” Bones noted. “What’s that about?”
“I suppose those are places that my father has already searched for the lantern.”
Dane tapped his chin and looked over the map, noting the numerical locations and matching them up with the key in the lower right-hand corner. Many of the spots, the late Professor Andrews had searched. He had already marked out the Park Street Church, King’s Chapel, the Old Corner Book Store, the Old South Meeting House, and the Boston Massacre site. He looked toward Faneuil Hall. The professor hadn’t searched it yet, he thought.
“He didn’t get to Faneuil Hall, though.”
“The Paul Revere House is on the Trail.” Bones pointed out its location in North Square, one block south of Hanover Street.
“Right,” Dane added. “And he’s already been there to find the knife.”
“But there’s no X. Neither is there an X on the Old North Church, Copps, Constitution or the Bunker Hill Monument. There’s a whole mess of unsearched places here.”
“At least he eliminated a few.” Jillian sounded affronted.
“No written records?” Dane asked.
Jillian shook her head. “He’s been busy, though. Yesterday, he went to the Old State House.”
“Where the first lantern is,” Bones said.
“He came home, dropped off the map, and went out to meet someone. Remillard, I guess.”
“You’re sure it’s okay with you that we take up the search on his behalf?” Dane asked.
“I’d be grateful.” She gave him a tired smile. “Where do you think we should begin?”
“Remillard gave us a clue—the wreckage of Somerset. We thought we’d see if we can’t find the wreckage.”
Just then, a shiny, black sedan pulled up to the curb. The passenger door opened, and a man dressed in jeans, an Oxford cloth shirt, and wraparound sunglasses stepped out. He looked around for a moment, and then his eyes locked on Dane and the others.
“I’ve seen him before” Jillian whispered. “He came by the house asking for Dad just a few days ago.”
“Do you have a car nearby?” Dane asked, not turning his head. He kept his eyes on the newcomer. Another door opened, and another, similarly-garbed man exited.
“Yeah.” Her voice trembled as she spoke.
“Bones, give her the book and the map. Let’s get out of here. Jillian, you lead the way.”
Bones and Jillian moved a split second before Dane saw the newcomer reach behind his back.
“Gun!” Dane shouted and took off after his friends.
“Hey, stop!” The newcomer’s yells chased them around Faneuil Hall toward Quincy Market.
“Hurry, you two!”
“I better not twist an ankle and spend the rest of my leave laid up,” Bones barked.
“You’ll spend the rest of our leave in the freaking cemetery if you don’t shut up and haul ass right this second, Bones.”
The trio ran hard as a bullet buzzed past them and smacked into the hard granite of the old market building. Dane hadn’t heard the gunshot. They must be using a silencer.
“Faster!”
Another bullet buzzed past them, ricocheting off the cobblestones near Dane’s feet. As long as they kept moving, a shot with a handgun at this distance would be difficult even for a talented marksman. Still, neither bullet had missed by much.
They turned the corner as a third shot barely missed Bones’ heel.
“This is it.” Jillian pointed to a shiny, new BMW parked in the shadow of the Central Artery.
“Give me the keys,” Dane demanded as Jillian opened the driver’s side door.
“I don’t think so,” she countered. “I know the city better than you.”
Dane snatched the keys from her, vowing to apologize later, if they got out of this mess.
“Get in.”
Jillian shot him a dirty look and reluctantly climbed into the back seat, as Bones had already wedged his lanky frame into the passenger side. Dane got in, closed the door, and quickly started the car. He slammed the accelerator to the floorboard and peeled away from the curb.
“If you scratch my father’s car, you’re toast.”
“I think we’ve got bigger fish to fry right now.”
They shot through a yellow light, narrowly avoiding a taxi cab turning left. Gunning the engine, they left the blaring horn behind them.
“Hopefully they won’t have time to regroup and come back.” Dane’s hands were tight on the wheel and adrenaline coursed through him. “The first one had to have been in the middle of the mall by the time we pulled away, and the second one wasn’t too far behind.”
Jillian squealed in fright as Dane made a hard right, barely touching the brakes.
“Don’t worry. I’ll try not to scratch the paint while I’m busy saving our lives.”
“What I’m worried about is walking away from the pile-up you’re about to cause.”
Dane’s cheek twitched.
Bones lowered the passenger visor and angled it to look out the rear window. “I don’t see them back there. Bummer. I was ready for a chase.”
“Maybe next time.”
“So, where are we going?” Bones asked.
“We’ll take Jillian somewhere safe, and then you and I have an appointment to keep this evening.”
CHAPTER 7
The last rays of the setting sun caromed off the tall buildings of downtown Boston as Dane and Bones made their way to the old Charlestown Navy Yard on the shore of the Charles River. They’d set Jillian up at a local motel while they saw to their task.
They crossed the Charlestown Bridge and turned onto Constitution Drive, pausing to pay their respects to Old Ironsides along the way. Its ma
st lights shone down on the white pine mainmast and black and white hull.
“So, what’s your big plan?” Bones asked as they continued on.
“An old friend of my dad’s lives here in town, and he owns a dive boat. He’s going to hook us up with the gear we need and take us out. There it is right there.”
“Whoa,” Bones gasped. “Check that out. When you said dive boat, I pictured something smaller.”
The live-aboard craft measured a good eighty feet from bow to stern with a twenty-five foot beam and second-deck bridge. Dane admired its sleek lines and thought he would love to own a boat just like this when he left the service.
“Dane Maddock, you swarmy son of a sea dog!” A rough voice called out.
Marco Cosenza, an old Navy pal of Dane’s father, Hunter Maddock, was a dark complected, meaty slab of a man with close cropped hair. His appearance and manner reminded Dane of Vince Lombardi. He lumbered down the gangplank and caught Dane up in a rough embrace. Dane clapped man on the back and pushed away before his ribs caved in.
“How the hell are you, son?”
“I’m doing well, coach.” Cosenza had been his Little League coach when the two families had been stationed in the same city in Florida decades ago. “I really appreciate you helping us out.”
“Glad to do it.” He turned to Bones. “I guess Dane isn’t going to introduce us. I’m Marco Cosenza.” They shook hands and Cosenza looked Bones up and down. “Anybody ever tell you you’re the biggest Indian they’ve ever seen?”
“Nope. You’re the first. I’m Bones. Good to meet you. I just hope you have a dive suit to fit me.”
“I think we can find something.” Cosenza turned back to Dane. “You told me where you want to dive, but not what you’re looking for.”
“How about we go aboard and I tell you all about it?” He followed Cosenza to the gangplank and stopped at the bottom. “Permission to come aboard Sea Foam, sir?”
“Granted.” Cosenza chuckled and waved them aboard.
“I like your boat.” Bones looked it over with an approving smile. “Ever think about renting it out for parties? I’ll bet I could get a band and fifty Hooters girls on here easy.”
